


Somethin' Kinda Crazy

by stellarsketches



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Idols, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blowjobs, Dancer! Ryuji, Idol! Akira, Idol! Souji, Jealousy, M/M, Rimming, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Texting, This is the slowest burn I've ever written, how could i forget to add the side souyo, kanji is actually a bad bodyguard...he's super scary looking but he's also v gentle, lots of flirting, they meet on tinder basically, yusuke is the best roommate ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 06:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17976281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarsketches/pseuds/stellarsketches
Summary: Ann signs Ryuji up for the gay dating app Partnr behind his back. She claims it’s a labor of love, an attempt to get him out of the dance studio and out on a date. Ryuji thinks it’s all an elaborate scam so she can skip their Moscato Mondays in favor of going on real dates with her new girlfriend.Ryuji doesn’t intend on keeping the app for more than a week. He doesn’t intend on hitting it off with a stranger using pics of the rising idol Ak★ra for his profile. He doesn’t expect the stranger to be the real thing. And Ryuji definitely doesn’t expect the idol to worm his way into his life.





	Somethin' Kinda Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> wow....tbh i never imagined i'd actually FINISH my big bang piece bc it somehow got so out of hand but i love this fic! one disclaimer i based the jpop world on what i know abt kpop bc 1. i know more abt kpop nd 2. i just like the way it's set up! s/o to the lovely artists [ashbel](https://twitter.com/novarelic) nd [boogs](https://twitter.com/elephant_bae) boogs for dealing w me nd my massive fic nd second thank you to boogs for betaing!
> 
> the title comes from a red velvet song :) also here's a [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/kendra56740/playlist/3MvmRoRxUDYG1q0GE87bc7?si=bAGXT-1DQCKGzIRwbOE1fg)

In retrospect Ryuji shouldn't be surprised to unlock his phone one Thursday afternoon to find a random message notification from a random man he doesn’t know from a dating app he didn’t install or sign up for.

 

But he is.

 

**(You, SanasFather14 ▼2 people)**

 

**(3:02pm)SanasFather14:** _hey hot stuff, just saw ur profile and wanted u to know ure absolutely gorgeous. wanna chat some time?_

  


As far as dating app messages go this one is relatively tame--which Ryuji is incredibly thankful for--but the sudden (if involuntary) dip into the dating pool again after years has him frozen in shock? Alarm? Barely restrained terror? He’d only picked up his phone to change the song from the too slow to dance to ballad, and now here he is about to have a heart attack in the dance studio they pay way too much to rent monthly.

 

Ryuji continues to stare unwavering at the message and the tiny icon of the sender who looks to be in his mid thirties and, _oh god,_ posing with a _child_. He brings his phone closer to his face to inspect the picture as best as he can from the lock screen of his phone. There is no way in hell he’s gonna open it and be the victim of read receipts.

 

Eventually Ryuji concludes that there definitely is a kid there, grinning right along with what is probably her father if the username is anything to go by. Good on him. But Ryuji doesn’t quite know how to feel about a man tentatively a decade or so older than him calling him _gorgeous._

 

Unlocking his phone, he quickly identifies the source of the offending message: a newly installed app called _Partnr._ The cliched pink and red icon sits there on his home screen innocuously like it isn’t single-handedly responsible for his minor panicked spiral.

 

And that is _not_ a dramatization because that is exactly how Ryuji feels when he navigates through the app to his profile. Said profile has already been set up, and made to be _absolutely ridiculous._

 

Ryuji only has to glance at the pictures uploaded, in which he’s either sweaty, looking shocked, half-asleep, or a mixture of the three, to know that wasn’t divine providence trying to get him to hook up. Or even a Russian psyop trying to get him to sell his soul to a cult.

 

The only person on the planet willing to bother him to such a degree is none other than Ann Takamaki, his long-term tormentor and best friend (by default). So without hesitation he dials her number.

 

“Hello?”

 

“What. The. _Fuck,”_ Ryuji sys in lieu of a greeting. There’s a pause and, once Ann realizes exactly who it is on the other line, she bursts into loud, raucous laughter. She’s full on cackling in Ryuji’s ear; as he sulks he wishes everyone else could see that beneath that composed and slightly aloof Scorpio facade is a massive troll.

 

Ann continues to giggle mirthfully, “Sweet, sweet revenge!” she crows triumphantly. “This is what you get for putting that stupid ‘Honk if you like tiddies’ bumper sticker on my car last week!”

 

Now it’s Ryuji’s turn to laugh. He’s still definitely sulking, but the memory of Ann giving him a lift to a small awards show rehearsal they were both booked to, and being honked at non stop for a good twenty minutes while Ann got increasingly belligerent lifts his mood dramatically.

 

That was a good prank, and he tells her as much.

 

“It was tasteless and crass,” she argues.

 

“And this dating profile you set up is better?” Ryuji pulls back, minimizing the call to glance at the hell profile currently under his name. “You said my favorite food was ‘ _hot, thick sausage_ ’. Where’s the taste in that? God, I should’ve known you were up to something when you showed up to the gym on time.”

 

Because Ann Takamaki has no shame (especially when it comes to bothering Ryuji) she just bursts into another round of laughter at his expense, though it stops short at the accusation of her lack of punctuality. “Hey! I am not always late! I uphold the sanctity of The Biweekly Gym Sessions to Promote Bi and Lesbian Solidarity.”

 

“Why do you still insist on calling it that?” Ryuji grumbles. They’ve been making somewhat frequent trips to the gym together at Ann’s suggestion after one junk food filled New Years season. It’s a good system: Ann nags him to keep up with the gym visits, and Ryuji’s presence is often enough to deter any meatheads from any unwanted advances.

 

At least that what is was _meant_ to be. In reality Ryuji shows up and actually works out for anywhere from thirty to forty-five minutes alone, while Ann runs late--too busy getting casual glam for just a gym visit. She’ll show up, run on the treadmill for twenty minutes then drag Ryuji to the attached Jamba Juice so they can talk shit about their respective co-workers.

 

In fact, over the course of the past eleven months Ann has only made it to their gym meets on time twice. The first was when her boss ordered a total rehaul of one idol group’s wardrobe twenty hours before the scheduled music video shooting. Meaning Ann and her crew had to suddenly find, fit, and style a ten-piece group in less than a day. With four outfits _each._

 

(Ryuji will never forget the pure fear he felt stepping out of the changing room to find Ann already there and attacking a punching bag with complete unbridled _rage._ To this day he still has no idea where she got those boxing gloves from.)

 

And the second time was when Makoto finally, _finally_ asked Ann out, after months of the two of them spending nearly every second of every day together. Buddha himself would’ve ran out of patience waiting for at least one of them to figure it out. The next day Ann had waltzed right up to where Ryuji was lifting weights and proceeded to _gloat_ nonstop.

 

So he really should have known something was up this morning. And he definitely should’ve known better than to let her get her grubby little hands on his phone.

 

“Quit complaining,” Ann huffs, sounding as unapologetic as they come. “Think of this as a gift! All my pranks are really just gifts in disguise!”

 

Ryuji makes eye contact with himself in the mirror, raising an incredulous eyebrow. “In what world are _your_ pranks gifts? Remember the time you filled my whole apartment with foam? Or the time you uploaded that god-awful video of me dancing to Havana to my _official Youtube channel?”_

 

“Yes...and if I recall, though that foam was a bitch to clean, that was one of the first times you had actually had _fun_ after...you know. The Split. And that video got you a shit ton of new subscribers! So what’s the problem?”

 

His knee-jerk reaction is to deny the truth in the first statement, a habit seemingly borne from The Split. Capitalized out of necessity.

 

But Ryuji knows it won’t do any good. And he knows it’s not good _for him._ That impromptu foam party was utter chaos, and his landlord threatened to kick him out when some of it leaked from underneath the door to make a mess in the hallway, but it was the first time in what felt like a long time that Ryuji was able to truly laugh.

 

Despite always going about in the most roundabout, borderline infuriating way, Ann always has Ryuji’s best interests in heart. He knows this. Logically this means _Partnr_ might actually be worth his time, regardless of the literal tendrils of dread curling in his gut at the idea of putting himself out there.

 

Admitting that--talking about _feelings_ and _vulnerabilities--_ isn’t something Ryuji feels like doing. Not today. Maybe next week once he gets this choreo ironed out for his client. Maybe.

 

Taking a deep breath, Ryuji begins to grab at the fragments of his feelings to at least try and put them into words. He owes Ann that much at least. “I just don’t...I don’t know if it’s time to do this again. Dating, I mean.”

“You don’t…?” This time Ann’s voice is softer with understanding. “Alright swap to FaceTime,” she commands suddenly.

 

“Wha? Why?” Ryuji asks, vaguely panicked. It’s a lot easier to be vulnerable when there’s no eye to eye contact. That’s why he came out to his mom in the car, when she couldn’t stare at him and unintentionally scare him out of what took him weeks to gather the nerve to do.

 

(In the end it didn’t matter. She threw on her hazards and pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway just so she could hug him). Ryuji’s protests fall on deaf ears, he’s already getting the FaceTime request. He swipes right to accept the call, lowering himself to the floor in anticipation for the heart to heart he’s about to experience.

 

When the video feed stabilizes Ryuji’s met with the sight of Ann, hair pulled back and dressed down in baby pink sweats and a Buchimaru t-shirt that was probably stolen from Makoto. She’s giving him that Concerned™ look as she sits in the rolling chair in her home office.

 

“You know I’m serious, right? I think this could be good for you. Just change a few things around, delete some of the worst pictures--leave the one where you’re wiping your sweat though--and you’ll be ready to mingle!”

 

“I’m not ready to date yet,” Ryuji replies somewhat petulantly. It’s the same thing he’s been saying for a year and a half now, and he wonders when it became less of the truth and more of an excuse.

 

Ann must know this as well, because she rolls her eyes and looks a bit less patient than before. “I’m not saying you have to find the _one._ And you don’t have to find anyone to fuck either, you can masturbate for the rest of your life for all that I care--”

 

“--Gross--”

 

“But.” She cuts him off with a single word, “At least talk to someone. Make friends! Go out and talk to someone that you haven’t been soul-bound via blood pact to since high school!”

 

“I have friends,” Ryuji protests, not quite ready to give in without a fight. Ann stares at him blankly. “I do! Yusuke’s my friend!”

 

“You work together. He doesn’t have a choice but to be your friend.”

 

“Hifumi’s my friend,” here Ryuji twists around so he can catch the manager hard at work, quietly typing away at her laptop against the far wall in the view of his phone’s camera.

 

Without looking up Hifumi deadpans, “I’ll be your friend when you and Kitagawa-kun finally give me that raise you’ve been promising.”

 

This time when Ann laughs at him Ryuji accepts defeat.

 

“Fine,” he sighs, already drained just at the idea of having to change out of his extensive collection of easy to move in track pants just to look decent. “I’ll keep this stupid app for a _week._ And if some weirdo wants me to send him feet pics or something I’m giving him your number.”

 

Ann is totally unfazed by the threat, her pleased smile only growing wider. “And if they ask for dick pics I can get you a picture of Makoto’s strap on instead.”

 

“ _Oh my god,”_ Ryuji only barely resists the urge to throw his phone across the studio. “I’m hanging up now.”

 

“Speaking of Makoto, I think I’ll have to pass on next week’s ‘Moscato Monday to Promote Healthy and Functional Friendships in Adulthood’. We’re having a date night before she gets swamped with work.”

 

Ryuji doesn’t deign to criticize the ridiculous name this time. He’s adding traumatized as well as tired to his current list of issues. “This whole dating again thing is just a scam to bail on me for your hot girlfriend isn’t it?”

 

“Of course not!” she says, not all at convincing. “I honestly and truly care about your happiness, but I also have plans to put that strap-on to use, you know?”

 

“ _Goodbye. I hate you.”_ And then Ryuji hangs up in her face. No sooner than the screen goes dark does his phone buzz again with a message.

  


**(You, ThisLittlePiggy ▼2 people)**

 

**(3:34pm)ThisLittlePiggy:** _I don’t mean to be too bold but you look like u have absolutely beautiful feet. I’d be willing to buy you dinner in exchange for a few pics and some conversation_

  


This time Ryuji does throw this phone. He watches it slide unharmed to the other side of the room before getting up to dance the past thirty minutes away. A week. That’s how long he’ll subject himself to this. A week and then he’ll delete the app for good and then never listen to Ann Takamaki again.

  
  


~~~~~~

  


Ryuji wakes up in the middle of the night a day later, bladder seconds away from bursting and his phone’s LED light blinking obnoxiously in the darkness. Warily--and despite pressing matters--he opens the message before he can talk himself out of it. After all, wouldn’t it be funny if he met the love of his life at 3 in the fucking morning?

 

**(You, BeyoncesFirstBorn ▼2 people)**

 

**(2:17am) BeyoncesFirstBorn:** _Hi cutie ^.^ Mind me asking how tall you are?_

 

**(3:09am)R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** _179 cm?_

 

He marvels at how awkward he manages to come across even across text. If Ryuji weren’t half asleep and maybe milliseconds away from rupturing his bladder, he would be more disappointed in himself. But he is both those things so without a second thought he throws his phone back on the bed, waddling off to the bathroom to stave off the en route UTI.

 

Despite being _forced_ to engage with this app against his will, his wishes, _and_ his morals, Ryuji wastes no time in scooping up his phone again.

 

BeyoncesFirstBorn (real name Shichiro) is typing as Ryuji throws himself back into his bed. In an effort to keep himself awake (and to just be nosey), he navigates through the guy’s profile. This is the first message he’s ever been confident (and not creeped out enough) to respond to.

 

All day yesterday Ryuji toyed with the idea of replying back to the first guy with a kid, but could never keep his nerve long enough to drum up something coherent that wasn’t just _Hey, you do know having a kid in your profile is a major turn off, you know?_ But that’s not his business. He isn’t even into older men like that. BeyoncesFirstBorn, Shichiro, whatever, is much more his speed.

 

Ryuji scrolls through the guy’s pictures, and suddenly he can’t remember why he hasn’t been on the dating scene for nearly two years now. The guy is _cute,_ in the classic pretty boy style. Chocolate brown hair always perfectly styled, save for the occasional obligatory “thirst trap” pic where he pushes his hair back with his hand.

 

Admittedly Ryuji spends more time going through the guy’s extensive collection of bathroom selfies (most of which taken sans shirts) than he does actually reading up on _him,_ so that Ryuji only gets past the other guy’s age and complete devotion to Beyonce when he’s finally get a reply.

 

**(You, BeyoncesFirstBorn ▼2 people)**

 

**(3:22am) BeyoncesFirstBorn:** _Too short._

 

**(3:22am)** _BeyoncesFirstBorn has left the chat._

  


Ryuji _gapes._

 

“I’m not _short,”_ he grouses to himself, dropping his phone back on the nightstand angrily, as if it were the cause of all of his misfortunes. In retrospect, it kinda is. With a grand huff of annoyance, Ryuji burrows himself under the covers. The mature guy with a kid that called him gorgeous wouldn’t do this to him.

  


~~~~~~

  
  


Day three and Ryuji is going on his first date. Meet up. Thing.

 

After the tragedy that was being told he was too short then _blocked,_ (which all his friends, Ann in particular, thought was absolutely hilarious) that next morning Ryuji decided the universe was telling him that his destiny is to be the sugar baby of some well-to-do middle aged man.

 

He’ll get his student loans paid off and never have to worry about his man being out all night. How the kid’ll fit into the equation Ryuji has no idea. He’s not the _best_ with kids, but if this is what the universe wants he’ll be the best hot gay step-dad he can be.

 

It’s five minutes until their scheduled meeting time at the park. Ryuji was a bit confused by the choice of locations, but he supposes it provides the openness and publicity needed for a safe app hookup. Yeah, a 5 star restaurant would be _preferred,_ but the first step to being a great hot step dad is to be accommodating and understanding.

 

Oddly enough, Ryuji isn’t really nervous. At most he just feels terribly out of place in a black and white vertical striped button down tucked into also black skinny jeans. Everyone else is handling the Tokyo heat in a lot more casual fashion.

 

He power walks past lovey dovey couples pinicing and families playing frisbee, all being almost obnoxiously happy. The rated G atmosphere is totally lowering the chances that Ryuji will want to get in this guy’s pants, but at least it’s easy to be relaxed.

 

And Ryuji needs all of the relaxing vibes that he can get, because there standing underneath the shade of a Cypress tree is his date. His date that’s as clean cut and handsome as his profile pictures.

 

Ryuji’s pleased to see that the guy doesn’t look _that_ old, looking more like a slightly less hot Steven Yeun.

 

Possibly feeling the weight of Ryuji’s gaze judging him eight ways to Sunday, the guy looks up expectantly. Recognition flashes in his eyes and he gives Ryuji a broad smile that radiates enough warmth to thaw whatever doubt Ryuji’d been harboring.

 

Still smiling, SanasFather14-- _god_ Ryuji wishes he’d taken the time to remember this guy’s real name instead of practicing self-defense techniques he might not even _need--_ steps closer to greet Ryuji. “Ryuji-kun?” he asks, reaching out a hand to shake.

 

“Uhhh, yeah--Hi?” They don’t get a chance to actually shake hands because suddenly there’s a waist high blur staring up at Ryuji.

 

“Hi!” the blur chirps, with a sort of boundless excitement only children can possess. That’s when Ryuji realizes that the blur watching him expectantly actually _is_ a child. An incredibly adorable young girl with her hair done up in pigtails. “I’m Sana! Are you my new step-daddy?”

  
  


~~~~~~

  


**(Gaggle of Gays ▼4 people)**

  


**(4:57pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** ok which one of my lovely friends wants to fake their death to get me out of the worst date in the history of history?

 

**(4:59pm) MAKOTO:** Last time I did you a favor I had to spend 4000 yen on what was most definitely a haunted doll. 4000 yen that you have YET to pay back.

 

**(4:59pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man** **_:_ **ok let me rephrase the question

**(4:59pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man** **_:_ **btwn my lovely friends yusuke nd ann which one of you want to fake your death to get me out of here?

 

**(5:00pm) Illegally Blonde:** is it that bad

 

**(5:03pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** YES IT’S THAT BAD!!!!!!! HE BROUGHT HIS FUCKIN KID ON THE DATE!!!!!!!! I CAN’T DO ANYTHING WITH A SIX YR OLD STARING AT ME!!!!!!

 

**(5:04pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** I thought you were well aware of the child?

**(5:04pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** You even investigated the works of Lana del Rey to ascertain the nuances of bagging a DILL

 

**(5:04pm) Illegally Blonde:** RGJGKJGSDJKGJKSJGK

**(5:04pm) Illegally Blonde:** RYUJI YOU FUCKING DWEEB AJFKAJKAJKFJKAJKFA

**(5:04pm) Illegally Blonde:** yusuke the term is dilf btw

 

**(5:06pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** Ah thank you.

 

**(5:08pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** ……...yusuke what ever happened to what happens btwn roommates FUCKIN STAYS BTWN ROOMMATES

**(5:08pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** ugh

**(5:09pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** for the record i DID know he had a kid. but to meet em on the first date? nd she keeps calling me stepdad

 

**(5:10pm) Illegally Blonde:** oh weird

 

**(5:10pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** see? nd he keeps asking me how i feel abt getting married nd shit. oh my god...he just asked me how i feel abt a july wedding

 

**(5:11pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** This month is July!

 

**(5:13pm) MAKOTO:** Hence the problem.

**(5:14pm) MAKOTO:** Let me guess. His last partner left him recently and he’s trying to both reclaim his youth by dating a 23 year old while simultaneously going back to that domestic bliss the divorce took from him.

 

**(5:19pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** …….p much

**(5:19pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** i think he said something abt them cheating too

 

**(5:20pm) Illegally Blonde:** yikes!

 

**(5:21pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** :(

 

**(5:21pm) Illegally Blonde:** this is the dark side of every lana del rey song ryuji. hope you learned ur lesson well

 

**(5:22pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** ha ha lets all have a laugh at my expense. youre the one that signed me up for this stupid app anyways!!!!!

 

**(5:22pm) Illegally Blonde:** that doesn’t mean u should go after geriatric dick!

 

**(5:22pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** Excellent vocabulary word, Ann!

**(5:14pm) MAKOTO:** Told you doing those crosswords puzzles together would help!

 

**(5:23pm) Illegally Blonde:** ;p

 

**(5:23pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** HELLO! im still on this hell date people!!!!! someone come and save me before he pulls out a goddamn wedding dress!

 

**(5:24pm) Illegally Blonde:** have u seen your shoulders? u’d bust the seams right out of any dress that’s not custom tailored. u don’t have to worry abt that

 

**(5:26pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** nvm im just gonna jump out of the window in the bathroom. this is getting weird

 

**(5:27pm) Yusuke van Gogh:**????

 

**(5:27pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** this weirdo has an actual WEDDING RING HERE!

**(5:27pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** THE KID IS HUMMING HERE COMES THE BRIDE

 

**(5:27pm) Illegally Blonde:** OH MY GOD?

 

**(5:28pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** I AM IN HELL

 

**(5:28pm) MAKOTO:** WHY DID YOU GO ON A DATE WITH A TOO EASILY ATTACHED OLD MAN???? WE’RE GOING TO GO OVER THE 100 RULES OF ONLINE DATING AGAIN NEXT TIME I SEE YOU!

 

**(5:29pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** IF I DON’T GET MURDERED FIRST

 

**(5:29pm) Illegally Blonde:** OK OK

**(5:30pm) Illegally Blonde:** i am going to call u in a sec. look worried and say u have to console me or something then get the FUCK out of there. oh and yusuke?

 

**(5:30pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** Yes?

 

**(5:31pm) Illegally Blonde:** do us all a favor and punch this idiot when he gets home

 

**(5:31pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** wait why am i getting punched?

 

**(5:32pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** Can do!

 

**(5:32pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** i did nothing wrong

**(5:32pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** YUSUKE! why are agreeing to that?

 

**(5:33pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** Putting yourself in danger needlessly is the number one thing your mother warned me about and gave me permission to punch you for. I promised her I would be a good roommate.

 

**(5:34pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** :( this is so unfair

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


Ryuji comes home to his apartment much more haggard than when he left. He barely has the sense to slip off his shoes before he throws himself dramatically on their ridiculously soft couch in the living room.

 

Yusuke’s in the attached kitchen, minding his own business. That’s normally the trait that makes him the best roommate to have ever existed, but Ryuji _really_ wants to sulk about his day and he can’t do that if Yusuke’s busy experimenting with his brand of Italian-Japanese food fusion.

 

So Ryuji takes it upon himself to get some attention. “Today. Was. Hell.” He makes sure to enunciate each word so he can be hear over the sizzling of...something coming from the kitchen.

 

“So you’ve said,” Yusuke replies blandly, the furrow of his brow as he concentrates audible. It’s hard to tell if he’s not paying full attention because he’s busy or because he’s refraining from saying _I told you so_ about the disaster date.

 

Yusuke, in fact, _did_ tell him so. He and Makoto both had done a whole PowerPoint presentation about the dos and don'ts of online dating and the art of discerning who to meet up with.

 

The desperate single father (who's name Ryuji _still_ can't remember) from whose presence he only barely escaped was actually deemed a potential train wreck. Makoto said it was because half of his profile was about how much he misses “marital bliss”. Yusuke just said his aura was all wrong.

 

Ryuji was too seduced by the flashy Rolex watch, the idea of having an older man pay off his student loan, as well as the idea of just going on a date to make the emotional trauma of downloading the app worth it in the first place.

 

So yeah he was wrong for not listening. And he’s infinitely glad that Yusuke isn’t rubbing it in his face. He would love some more sympathy though. “Is this any way to talk to someone who was about to be married off against his will?”

“No.” Yusuke finally strides from out of the kitchen, plate in hand and lips twitching in barely restrained amusement. “But that is the way to talk to _you.”_

 

“You told a joke!” Ryuji gasps dramatically. He’s parodying an old dance teacher they had in college that was convinced Yusuke had no sense of humor and would request a joke before class every day.

 

“Was it funny?”

 

“No. Because you’re makin’ fun of me!” Ryuji sulks as obviously as possible, cheek pressed against the armrest of the couch and bottom lip jutting out petulantly. A fond look takes over Yusuke’s face, and he kneels beside the couch to offer the other a piece of food.

 

Warily Ryuji eyes the mystery foodstuff. It’s wrapped in seaweed but smells distinctly like pizza. Or maybe a calzone. “What...is this?” he asks when Yusuke continues to insistently press whatever it is into his hand.

 

“A pizza roll wrapped in seaweed.”

 

A pause. “Is it any good?”

 

Yusuke stares at him blankly.

 

Upon realizing that’s as good as an answer as he’s gonna get, Ryuji takes one more long look at his poor man’s pizza rice ball (minus the rice) before shoving the whole thing in his mouth. Yusuke has yet to send either one of them to the hospital with one of his culinary creations, and Ryuji knows this is just his friend’s way of trying to cheer him up.

 

So he chews.

 

….Actually it isn’t bad. Ryuji’s pleasantly surprised face at the taste has Yusuke beaming with pride--or at least as close to beaming as he can get.

 

“Not bad,” Ryuji says, nodding to himself. “But don’t think I’ll forgive you of your misdeeds just for this.”

 

Yusuke--the same person who refuses to let anyone squish crickets inside, and who patiently listened to Ann rant for two hours about her job once, sweet, sweet Yusuke--rolls his eyes at Ryuji’s theatrics. “I wasn’t aware caring about your well-being was a _misdeed.”_ Yusuke grumbles, uncaring that he’s being openly gaped at.

 

“You’ve been spending too much time with Ann,” Ryuji mourns. He grips Yusuke by the shoulder and shakes him a bit, “You can’t be mean to me too, Yusuke! You’re the only person isn’t trying to fight me 24/7!”

 

“I still do not understand how caring for your well-being is considered ‘fighting’,” but Yusuke allows himself to be rocked side by side until Ryuji tires of it. The former frowns deeply, gesturing vaguely with his hands in an attempt to conjure the right words. “You… Makoto thinks you’re ‘unintentionally sabotaging your own happiness’. Honestly, I’m not sure what that means, but things haven’t been the same since the…”

 

Ryuji flops back on the couch with a sigh, “The Split, yeah, I know.” They’re on the fast track to talk about Feelings again, and Ryuji’s not too sure he wants to do that twice in the same week. But scuttling away to his room with the excuse that the seaweed/pizza roll combo was fighting back would feel disingenuous. Especially when it’s _Yusuke,_ who’s almost as adverse to talking about Feelings as Ryuji is.

 

Or at least he _was._

 

“So were all of you in on it when Ann downloaded this stupid app on my phone? I don’t need to be in a relationship to be happy,” Ryuji sniffs, trying to not sound as pouty as he feels. He’s a capable and independent gay. He has lube; he doesn’t _need_ a boyfriend.

 

Looking, dare he say, _fond,_ Yusuke stops Ryuji from mindlessly biting at his nails by gently pulling his hands away. “Obviously a relationship is not necessity for happiness,” he blinks pointedly at the other, gaze saying _There is a 87% chance I’m aromantic you dumb fuck. Shut up and listen._

 

“We’re not saying you need to date someone. We want you to have fun again. _I_ go out more than you do. And I don’t go anywhere. Though her methods may have been crude, I think Ann has good intentions. You deserve to have fun.”

 

The sincerity in Yusuke’s voice makes Ryuji wriggle, a combination of appreciation and mild embarrassment mixing in his belly. He’s always known his friends cared, but they all tend to bury their concern and affection under playful digs and pranks. Such open emotion is….overwhelming. Welcome, but somewhat unexplored territory.

 

“Fine,” Ryuji says, sitting up and squaring his shoulders. “I will use Ann’s dating app from hell _wisely._ At least for the rest of the week. And then I’ll try to be more...open. Whatever the fuck that means.”

 

Yusuke nods once in affirmation before gracefully rising to his feet. “Whatever that means,” he repeats with a smile.

 

Affectionately, and mildly patronizingly, Ryuji pats his roommate on the thigh. “You’re the best roomie I could ever have.”

 

“I know. Does this mean we can get a pet snake?”

 

“ _No!_ You know how I feel about amphibians!”

 

“Actually snakes are reptiles.”

 

“That doesn’t change anything!”

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


The remainder of the week goes by a lot easier. Minor correction: it goes by easier only _after_ Makoto came barging in (Ann and her spare key to their apartment in tow)  maybe an hour after his and Yusuke’s pizza roll bonding to run through her extensive list on online dating safety. And then for good measure they all had a group discussion about stepping out of comfort zones and methods to stop one’s self from self-sabotaging without noticing it, Makoto and her psychology degree leading the discussion.  

 

Ryuji still can’t quite understand how Makoto ended up managing and corralling out of control singers and actors instead of being a full time counselor or something. Last time he asked she said something about how if anyone needed semi full-time, emotional counseling backed up by years of martial arts it would be a celebrity. She also threw in some things about the pressure of stardom that went right over his head. As far as he’s concerned being showered with love 24/7 sounds like the dream.

 

Nonetheless Ryuji does his best to take his friends’ advice to heart. Excluding Ann’s advice to just hook up with the sleazy landlord of her apartment building that checks Ryuji out every time he comes over.

 

He gets on _Prtnr_ again, and just...enjoys it. Not _all_ of it. He gets called _too short_ more than a couple of times. (‘Why are gays so _vain?’_ Ryuji had disparaged after the second time he was rebuffed by a guy with a height requirement in his bio. ‘Says the guy that was willing to be a step-dad for the first attractive guy you met,’ Ann scoffed. They bickered back and forth until the security guard at the train station asked them if they were okay.)

 

Beyond that. It’s fun. He gets a kick out of swiping through the funnier profiles. (One guy was on a jet ski in assless chaps). He enjoys talking to the harmless weirdos that’re just looking for someone to talk about conspiracy theories or their favorite AKB48 singles. It’s stupid and harmless and now that Ryuji’s not in a rush to go on a date to prove that he _can,_ he fully indulges in the madness.

 

More often than not conversation peters out within the day, if not within seconds, but the casualness (and total unpredictability of it all) spices up Ryuji’s daily routine.

 

Finally it’s the day Ryuji's gonna log out of _Prtnr_ for good. Despite the endless amount of entertainment the app has managed to bring him, Ryuji is ready to get this shit off his phone so he can have enough storage to get Pocket Camp back.  
  
That's precisely what he's doing now as he sits at the attached island in his and Yusuke's living room/kitchen. They have to be at the studio in about an hour or so to meet with their most recent clients, and Yusuke has kicked Ryuji out of the kitchen again to make way for his culinary "genius".  
  
Ryuji just hopes the egg laden disaster that is bound to happen happens soon enough so that they can still pick up something from the cafe a few blocks down. By the sound of a flurry of rapid fire egg cracks, and the sudden smell of something burning it appears they'll have plenty of time.  
  
Yusuke continues to execute his...vision while Ryuji takes one last look through his _Prtnr_ profile. He's making sure he doesn't have any new messages before he goes off the grid for good, and to his surprise he has a new profile hitting him up.  
  
A cursory glance at the face in the round icon to the left of the profile turns into a double take. Then a triple take. Then a quadruple take because this might be the most blatant and obvious catfish attempt in reality.  
  
Obviously a catfish because there is no way in all nine circles of hell that the actual, living and breathing pop idol Ak★ra is messaging him on a free dating app.  


 

**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

  


**(9:22am)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **!!!!!!!! is that your dog in that fifth picture????? so cute!!!!!

  


Is he really supposed to believe not only an idol is on a gay dating site, but hits him up first, _and_ opens conversation about dogs like everything is normal?

 

Ryuji isn't even that big of a jpop fan anymore, only keeping up with the more unavoidably popular songs and artists, but he's definitely aware of Akira's rising popularity.

 

Back when Ryuji was in undergrad--more specifically when he had finally decided to get the fuck out of business to major in dance--he had gotten hooked on this new idol survival show. It wasn’t his fault, his roommate was the one watching it religiously at full volume on his laptop. So what if Ryuji snuck glances at the TV over his geology textbook?

 

_No Shortcomings_ was a show where 99 hopeful idol trainees from practically every entertainment company in Tokyo competed to be part of the final 13 member boy group. Every week there were challenges, performances, and loads of _drama._ What made the show so innovative and so addictive was that the viewer votes made everything happen. The more votes an idol got the higher their ranking was and the greater chance of them making it to the end.

 

Ryuji didn’t think he’d ever actually end up caring for an idol that he would never get to meet. For the most part he didn’t, but there was one person that caught not only Ryuji’s eye but half of Japan.

 

Literally. Akira’s entrance performance went viral as soon as the first episode dropped. The idol came in with sharp dance moves and a smile that could melt glaciers. Ryuji, and most of his classmates, were hooked instantly.

 

As fanboyish as it sounds, _No Shortcomings_ helped Ryuji through the debilitating funk that was his life after swapping two totally unrelated majors his second year of school. Not to mention dance was hard as hell. It was everything he could have ever wanted, but that didn’t stop the grueling hours of practice or the ridiculous competitiveness from taking a toll on him.  

 

So while Ryuji struggled through heaps of choreography, late night practices, critique after critique on top of classes like Classical Japanese Literature he watched his favorite trainee go through the same thing. Just replace Japanese Lit with singing lessons, and the pressure of being on national television.

 

Ryuji doesn’t consider himself to having the same natural charisma (or sex appeal) of Akira, but he drew a sense of camaraderie all the same. Ironically the finale of _No Shortcomings_ aired during finals week and while Ryuji passed all of his classing (even literature) with an above average GPA--thanks to some classic made-for-TV rigging--Akira was given the chop despite consistently being one of the top three trainees.

 

Akira even cried beautifully when it was announced he was ranked number 14, just missing the cutoff for the group. Ryuji doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the way Akira’s eyes shone with, not only tears, but gratitude. In his farewell speech he didn’t berate the show’s production (though many viewers did), just thanked his fans and promised them to do his best to debut solo.

 

And he did just that.

 

Which explains why Ryuji has no idea how anyone could possibly believe they could pass off pictures of one of the highest selling solo idols out right now. Curious as to the depth of this catfish Ryuji browses through the profile, surprised and in a way impressed to find that the whole thing has to be set up with the idol’s information.

 

Whoever’s behind the account is truly dedicated to authenticity… Ryuji squints, suspicious but curious. He might as well get to the bottom of the joke.

  
  


**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

  


**(9:22am)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **!!!!!!!! is that your dog in that fifth picture????? so cute!!!!!

 

**(10:42am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** it’s actually my friend’s asshole of a dog.

**(10:42am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** uhh are you aware you’re using an idol’s photos for your profile?

 

**(10:45am)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **i sure am!

 

**(10:46am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** so…...do you really expect ANYONE to believe that like a real life idol is on a dating app?

 

**(10:46am)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **what? is that so hard to believe? ┐(￣ヘ￣)┌

 

**(10:48am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** ……

**(10:48am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** OF COURSE IT IS!!!! what idol would be dumb enough to be caught on a gay dating app???? won’t you have to shave ur head if u get caught dating??

 

**(10:49am)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **thanks for the concern but anyone willing to expose me being on a gay dating would have to yknow….also admit that THEY are also on a gay dating app ;p

**(10:51am)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **btw they dont do the head shaving thing anymore. but wouldnt i look handsome bald? (☆´3｀)

 

**(10:52am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** huh thats a good point

**(10:52am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** nd most ur fans are 15 yr old girls. they dont even have phones yet

 

**(10:55am)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **are u an old man? 5 yr olds have phones now

**(10:55am)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **!!!!!!!! so does this mean u believe who i say i am?

 

**(10:57am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** akflkalkfalk HELL NO! u were just a convincing catfish for a moment. i won’t be tricked again!

 

**(11:00am)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **so does this mean you’ll chat w me again~~~~~~~

 

**(11:00am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** no

 

**(11:01am)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **sure you won’t~~~~ ˶⚈Ɛ⚈˵

  


“What’re you smiling at?” The unexpected question, makes Ryuji jump. It’s Yusuke, done destroying the carton of eggs to lean across the island curiously.

 

“Nothing,” Ryuji locks his phone, turning his attention away from the strange and vaguely frustrating person behind the Akira account. He can delete _Prtnr_ later.

  


~~~~~~

  
  


He actually doesn’t get around to deleting _Prtnr_ later on that day, to the surprise of absolutely no one. It’s not like it was a conscious decision nor was it any lingering curiosity about the person behind the Akira account.

 

In reality Ryuji’s just been _busy._ Busy with the new client, who’s entertainment agency is already turning out to be a mega pain in the ass, not to mention the rent for the studio is going up _again_ , and worst of all his mom’s birthday is coming up and Ryuji has absolutely no idea what to get her.

 

Which is why he’s awake at 5am, headphones blasting the most hype music he has as he gets ready for a morning run. It’s a habit from way back in high school when he ran track. The coach was a major asshole and his running mates were the biggest gossips imaginable, but Ryuji still gets a thrill from the exertion from just...running.

 

The air is light with the early morning chill, and the streets of his neighborhood are quiet and calm. So the sudden buzzing of his phone back to back quite understandably takes Ryuji by surprise.

  
  


**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

  


**(5:02am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~:  **(ノ￣ー￣)ノ

**(5:02am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **＼(^ω^＼)

**(5:02am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **〜(꒪꒳꒪)〜

**(5:02am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **（〜^∇^)〜

 

**(5:03am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** what in the hell are u doing?

 

**(5:03am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **shouldn’t u be asleep?

 

**(5:04am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** says the person sendin me emojis at 5 am

 

**(5:04am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **well for the record i didnt think i would get a response. i figured you wouldve blocked me already

**(5:04am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **and im not just sending emojis! i’m trying to stay awake! hair and makeup for this shoot is taking forever （´＿｀;）and my manager’s busy and my stylist refuses to talk to me when she’s in ‘the zone’

 

**(5:05am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** you’re pretty detailed for a catfish i’ll have to give that to you. let me guess you’re actually in some 24 hr internet cafe jerkin it in sweat pants

 

**(5:05am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **i wish

**(5:06am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **just the sweatpants bit. the pants they have me in rn are so tight i can feel the pulse in my dick

 

Ryuji snorts in laughter, loudly and suddenly. It dawns on him in that moment that he’s continuing to engage with this stranger that, at best, is doing a social experiment on gullible internet denizens on an app he swore he was going to scrub from his phone.

 

**(5:06am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** and here i thought idols weren’t allowed to curse

 

**(5:07am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **i’m not an idol here remember? i’m just some weirdo trying to scam you for your credit card info Ψ(☆ｗ☆)Ψ

**(5:07am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **ive been meaning to ask how does someone as cautious and totally cynical to the magical coincidences of the world end up on a dating app?

 

**(5:08am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** im not cynical! ure just too trusting!

 

**(5:08am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: (´﹃｀)**

 

**(5:08am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** but for the record a friend signed me up for this app behind my back. to force me to have fun ig.

 

**(5:09am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **oh how fun! why would they need to force you to have fun? are you a virgo?

 

**(5:09am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** a what?

 

**(5:09am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **(；一ω一||) what kind of gay are u if u dont know anything abt astrology? *blows whistle* you have just had two gay points deducted! dont let this happen again!

 

**(5:10am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** has anyone told you you’re a bit of a brat?

 

**(5:10am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **all the time!

**(5:10am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **now go on! why did your friend decide you’re no fun?

 

**(5:11am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** nosy much? but its nothing crazy. my last relationship ended in the biggest shitshow known to man. got dumped by the guy i was dating for 3 yrs just bc i didnt wanna move to the middle of nowhere w him after he graduated and lose all of my credits.

**(5:12am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** that asshole even broke our lease and stuck me w rent so high i could barely wipe my ass.

 

**(5:13am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **⋋_⋌ that’s awful! booooooooooo! you’re a million times better off without him! but you should be proud of yourself! youre moving on and talking to guys cuter nd (hopefully) better behaved!

 

**(5:14am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** i mean yeah cept for the fact that i didnt even sign myself up for this thing

 

**(5:14am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **true! but u couldve deleted it at any moment. this is growth! progess! nd you cannot convince me otherwise!

**(5:14am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **be proud of yourself! oof! now I’M pumped up! youve inspired me to give my all for this photoshoot!

 

**(5:16am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** the photoshoot i still don’t believe is happening in real life?

 

**(5:17am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **that’s the one!

 

**(5:17am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** have fun then. don’t rip your pants

 

**(5:18am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **i’ll try not to. i’m too shy to be a porn star (/ε＼*)

  


For the second time in twenty minutes Ryuji finds himself laughing at the utter ridiculousness of the person on the other side of the Akira account. Shoving his phone for good in the pocket of his oversized hoodie, Ryuji finally pushing himself off the wall against the entrance of his apartment into the sharp chill of the morning.

 

If he’s feeling a bit more energized than when he first rolled out of bed that’s just the endorphins doing their job.

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  


“Yeah, the movie was really good. But also, like, really _weird._ The brother just left the headless body in the car--”

 

_Ting!_

 

The telltale sound of a text tone stops Ann mid movie review, her curiosity instantly stoked when Ryuji flips his phone over to read the text preview without hesitation. Normally he would ignore something as simple as a message, but it could be a distress text from Yusuke after being locked out of their apartment--again.

 

Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

 

**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

  


**(7:58pm) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **confession time: i think that i was meant to be born in the 70s so i could be mariah carey’s bi boyfriend in the 90s

 

Ryuji can’t help the soft, fond snort of amusement he lets out. He’s smiling as he flips his phone back over, but when he looks up both Ann and Makoto are watching him with identical amused expressions.

 

“What?”

 

The way Ann leans across the table is almost predatory. “Who’re you texting?” she asks innocently, but the slow creeping of her hand towards Ryuji’s phone is anything but.

 

“No one,” Ryuji counters, trying his best to be casual about it. It’s hard to decide if the worst thing that could happen tonight would be Ann finding out he’s still using _Prtnr_ or Makoto finding out that he’s been talking to someone he doesn’t know the real identity of.

 

On second thought, Makoto and her Aikido skills will _always_ be the more terrifying option. Which is why he only gives a token effort of protest when Ann makes a grab for his phone. “You sure about that?” she asks cheekily, making a show out of waving his phone around. “That smile was _really_ telling. Not to mention everyone that texts you is here.”

 

“Yusuke texts me,” Ryuji pouts.

 

“Didn’t he burn his thumb on a waffle maker the other day so he can’t unlock his phone now?” Makoto asks, stirring her drink idly.

 

Ryuji just pouts harder because not only does Yusuke defy all logic (how can such a talented genius be so accident prone?) but it’s always impossible to use his as an excuse. “My roommate is an idiot,” Ryuji mourns to himself.

 

“Yeah,” Makoto agrees, smiling serenely, “Which is why the two of you get along so well.”

 

Ann laughs loudly, both at the dig, and at her discovery. Triumphantly she shoves the phone screen, and the plethora of pointless emojis “Akira” is sending him back to back, in Ryuji’s face. “I thought you were deleting _Prtnr!”_

 

“I _was._ And still _am--”_

 

“--Let me guess,” Ann interrupts, dramatically gazing off into the distance. “Like fate. Like destiny some mystery guy sweeps you off your feet the day you swore to save yourself for marriage.”

 

“It's nowhere that serious,” Ryuji sighs. If anything Akira is more of an eternal (and endlessly peppy) mystery that makes good conversation. But if that's what helps Ann sleep at night she can have it.

 

When he tells her that, her self satisfied smile only grows. “Be sure to invite me to the wedding.”

 

“And don't forget to use protection,” Makoto adds.

 

“It's not that serious!”

 

“Sure it isn't.”

  


~~~~~~

  


Ryuji maintains his stance that things aren't that serious.

 

First and foremost he doesn't even know _who_ this Akira is really. Which should bother him, but as the weeks go on and he finds himself exchanging messages most days (try every day) a strange dichotomy appears.

 

Ryuji learns what drink Akira likes from Starbucks. He learns that the other has to wear socks at all times or his feet get cold. And he learns that he’s obsessed with 90’s American pop. All while having no idea what this Akira actually looks like, besides glimpses of his thin fingered hands holding some pretentious Starbucks frappuccino.

 

By now it’s clear that Akira isn’t an elaborate bot or a figment of Ryuji’s imagination. Which is good. He’s also still sticking to the whole idol story. Which is questionable. Ryuji’s best guess is that Akira’s maybe not that secure in his looks, and is using a famous person’s face instead in order to feel confident enough to interact with others.

 

Ryuji can sympathize. Not the catfishing bit, but he understands self-confidence doesn’t always come that easily to everyone. So he doesn’t press as much anymore, and just waits to see where this will all lead him.

 

An easy feat, because nothing’s serious is going on between them anyways. Akira is a digital exclusive acquaintance-slash-friend and nothing more. Ryuji has better things to worry about at the moment.

 

Primarily he’s worried over the fact that, yet again, another entertainment company is mistaking his and Yusuke’s title as choreographers for miracle workers. It’s not that the singer--Haru--is bad or anything. If anything it’s the opposite, her manager spent a good twenty minutes praising vocal techniques that flew straight over Ryuji’s head.

 

What management failed to mention is that Haru hasn’t done any serious dancing since middle school, and is incredibly, terribly shy. Add an overbearing, perfectionist of a manager (that just _loves_ doling out criticism to anyone in the vicinity) and you have a recipe for the bundle of stress the past two days have been.

 

If it weren’t for the decent pay--and the fact that he has bills to pay--Ryuji would have them all shipped off to some other studio.

 

Presently, Ryuji is standing near his duffel bag, drinking deeply from his water bottle as he unlocks his phone. Hifumi is doing her best to cheer up the talent, and Yusuke is still in the zone, going over moves in the mirror.

 

Amazing even himself, the first thing Ryuji does is pull up his and Akira’s text thread in _Prtnr_ to immediately start typing up a message.

  
  


**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

  
  
  


**(12:08pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** currently contemplating giving up on civilization and moving into the mountains and idk herding sheep or some shit

 

**(12:09pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: ** and leave cute lil ol me alone? how could u? （；￣Д￣）

**(12:09pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **but why the sudden casting away of society? gambling debt?

 

**(12:09pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** i barely have money to gamble with in the first place

**(12:10pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** which is the problem.

**(12:10pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** that and i can barely get through 10 seconds of choreo with my current client

 

**(12:12pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **oh yeah! u do dance! i almost forgot

**(12:12pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **hm maybe theyre just nervous? i mean having to dance in front of a hot, talented dance instructor can be really daunting esp if a company manager is there. not all managers treat their talent gently

 

**(12:13pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** how do you even know i’m talented?

 

**(12:16pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **that’s what u choose to focus on (；￣ー￣A

**(12:16pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **dont ignore my high quality flirting! or my amazing advice!

 

**(12:16pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** what advice?

 

**(12:18pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)(╬ಠ益ಠ)

 

**(12:19pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** kidding! i got it! i’ll talk to them i guess...and try to be...understanding…

 

**(12:19pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: （－－；**dont make it seem like that’s impossible to do… everyone in the world deserves some kindness!

 

**(12:21pm)** **R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** even the ppl that think mariah carey can’t sing?

 

**(12:21pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **absolutely

**(12:21pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **NOT

**(12:22pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **we all know people like that dont deserve rights. but anyways! cheer up soon! none of your problems are permanent! you have the power to change your circumstances

 

**(12:23pm)** **R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** wow i had no idea i was talking to a motivational speaker

 

**(12:23pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **oh you’re not just talking to a motivational speaker

**(12:23pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **you’re talking to a damn good motivational speaker

 

**(12:24pm)** **R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** -_-

 

**(12:26pm)** **A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **you love me ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡ admit it  ღゝ◡╹)ノ♡ ciao for now! i am currently running fashionably late for a meeting so i better put my pants on

  


With an eye roll equal parts exasperation and fondness (a mixture that is quickly becoming the standard when dealing with Akira) Ryuji sets aside his phone. Somehow he feels a bit lighter. Not by a _lot,_ things are still shit, but it’s shit he can handle.

 

Schrodinger’s Akira’s advice is buzzing around in Ryuji’s head as he takes a deep breath before making his way over to where Haru is sitting, knees pulled up against a mirror.

 

“I’m sorry!” she blurts out immediately. Ryuji blinks at her, confused. An apology was probably the last thing he expected to get.

 

“Sorry? What’re you sorry for?”

 

Haru looks like Ryuji just spoke in Pig Latin. “I-I kept messing up the steps, and now we’re all behind schedule and…” Her eyes dart frequently over to her helicopter mom of a manager nervously searching for signs of displeasure.

 

“If you have time to worry, you have time to practice harder, Haru-chan,” the manager scoffs. “We need this next single to be a hit. Don’t forget that.” Instantly Haru deflates even more.

 

_Not all managers treat their talent gently._

 

It’s beginning to look like Akira hit the nail on the head, even from what little information Ryuji divulged about the situation.

 

“Don’t worry about it. Early practices are always more relaxed. Can’t expect everyone to learn all the moves day one.” Ryuji says, making a point to smile, swallowing down the protective sort of anger welling up within him. “Seriously, don’t worry about it,” he repeats to Haru.

 

Her shoulders relax maybe a fraction of a centimeter. “Thank you.”

 

Ryuji flaps a hand around to convey the triviality of what he’s done. Momcopter manager doesn’t call the shots around here. Technically neither does Ryuji--not since the one time he almost got into a fight with this one rival choreographer--but no one objects to the gentle sassing,  so it’s all good. “It’s nothin’. Yusuke’s gettin’ old, you know? He needs to take long breaks to rest those old arthritic knees of his.”

 

Yusuke seems unimpressed with the fact that Ryuji not only used arthritic correctly in a sentence but pronounced it right as well. Face blank he says, “There’s nothing wrong with my knees. _You’re_ the one always complaining about your aching back.”

 

“We were actually considering getting you all natural health supplements for your birthday,” Hifumi chimes in.

 

Haru cracks a smile even as Ryuji scowls at Yusuke and Hifumi both. Before he can complain that he’s no where old enough for health supplements to qualify as a gift, Haru’s soft, lilting voice draws their attention. “I really am sorry about today,” she mutters. “I promise next time I’ll do better. I’ll do anything it takes to be better.”

 

Despite the nervousness, there’s a glint of determination burning in her eyes. Ryuji’d wondered how someone so soft-hearted had ended up in the often harsh and unapologetic entertainment industry, but it’s becoming clear that Haru’s a lot tougher than he looks.

 

And he respects that.

 

“Alright,” Ryuji nods. “We’ll give it our all too.”

 

Haru beams at him, “Okay!”

  


~~~~~~~

  
  


It isn’t until late in the evening as he’s stepping into his apartment building that Ryuji remembers he hadn’t properly thanked “Akira” for the advice. In all honesty he doesn’t quite know why he feels compelled to do so, but he pays for WiFi he might as well use it.

  
  


**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

 

**(10:55pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** looks like i shouldn’t have doubted your skills as a motivational speaker. things turned out ok so…..

**(10:55pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** …..thank you

**(11:01pm) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **no need to thank me! just doing my job and spreading lovely love to the masses!!!! ☆*ヾ(-∀・*)*+☆ ﾟ.+(〃ﾉωﾉ)ﾟ.+°☆*ヾ(-∀・*)*+☆

  


Ryuji gets the overzealous response as stepping into the building’s elevator. He’s vaguely horrified to catch a glimpse of himself grinning like a fool in the reflection of the polished steel doors.

 

The same ridiculously cutesy emojis that Ryuji had found mildly grating are now...endearing?

 

Oh, god.

 

Maybe things are more serious than he thought.

  
  


~~~~~~~

  
  
  


A week or so later that same thought crosses Ryuji’s mind yet again. (And the _maybe_ things are more serious wavers towards _most definitely.)_ It begins when a text argument over the inherent weirdness of cheese (“it’s a fungus” Akira had typed out over and over. “why are we willingly ingesting _spores?”)_ drops off suddenly.

 

Ryuji hadn’t thought much of it; he’s noticed in the past two months that Akira tends to keep strange hours. For the most part he answers within minutes of Ryuji’s messages but occasionally responses come hours later, oftentimes coming in the wee hours of the morning. Not to mention he doesn’t seem to _sleep._

  
  
  


**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

 

**(1:07pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** i cant believe you have a whole manifesto against cheese of all things

 

**(12:11am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **u know me. im a weirdo

 

The nearly twelve hour delay in a response is unusual enough, not to mention the lack of exclamation points and emojis. It’s all setting off alarm bells in Ryuji’s head. Something feels _off,_ but he also has no idea what to do.

 

He doesn’t even know if he and Akira are at the place in a friendship where they can safely discuss things more serious than their favorite foods. Lips pursed in thought, Ryuji sits cross-legged in bed as he stares daggers at the phone in his lap.

 

Time slowly ticks by, the window where it would be relevant to ask _Hey are you sad or have you been abducted by aliens_ (or something of the sort) dwindling down. Eventually Ryuji resolves to just do it. Akira is his friend, and he’d want to be asked if he were okay.

  
  
  


**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

 

**(1:07pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** i cant believe you have a whole manifesto against cheese of all things

 

**(12:11am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **u know me. im a weirdo

 

**(12:21am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** hey….are you okay?

 

**(12:24am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **do i not seem okay?

 

**(12:24am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** yeah? i mean...i don’t think i’ve ever gotten a message from you that wasn’t 90% !!!!!!!s and those weird dancing emojis. idk. you just feel different.

 

**(12:27am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **i think it’s more like 50% emojis

**(12:27am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **… ugh i’m just upset over work stuff.

**(12:29am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **it’s stupid we don’t have to talk abt it

  
  
  
  
  


**(12:31am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** if youre upset about it then its not stupid. everyone has problems. your work troubles are just as valid as your weird cheese discourse

 

**(12:33am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **but i don’t want to be a downer…….

 

**(12:34am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** who cares abt that? the only downer in this world is my rent bill

**(12:34am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** besides you let me complain abt my neighbor that wouldnt stop coughing for two weeks straight. it wouldnt be fair if i didnt let u vent

 

**(12:39am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~:  **(⋟﹏⋞)

 

**(12:41am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** (◣_◢)

 

**(12:42am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~:  **hey! you used an emoji!

 

**(12:43am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** i didn’t have a better way to express my frustration

**(12:43am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** (◣_◢)

**(12:43am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** (◣_◢)

**(12:44am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** you shouldn’t feel bad abt complaining of all things. if u don’t talk abt how u feel you’ll get a hernia and die

 

**(12:44am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **i don’t think those three things are directly related

 

**(12:45am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** i wish you could see how hard i’m rolling my eyes right now

 

**(12:48am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **く(^ｰﾟ)ﾉ sorry for being difficult

 

**(12:49am) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** you should be. if u feel the hernia setting in and want to talk i’ll be here to listen. and i won’t even charge you full price for my company

 

**(12:50am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **く(^ｰﾟ)ﾉ thank you! ˶⚈Ɛ⚈˵  ˶⚈Ɛ⚈˵ ˶⚈Ɛ⚈˵

  
  


Ryuji figures that’s the end of the conversation. Now he can add “the type to suffer needlessly alone” to the list of traits he knows about Akira. Right under “oddly perceptive” and “relentlessly adorable”.

 

Instead of getting up to get ready for bed like he _should,_ Ryuji stretches out on the electric yellow comforter, staring up at the ceiling. The myriads of tones hidden in the popcorn finishing offer no answers, and provide no insight.

 

Not that Ryuji needs it apparently, because his phone buzzes again.

  
  


**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

  
  


**(1:02am) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **is it too soon to change my mind? i think….i want to talk abt it now. can i call you?

  
  


Ryuji doesn’t hesitate to send his number, the implications of what’s happening not hitting him until his phone is lighting up in his hand. Pulse thrumming, Ryuji swipes right to accept the call. “Umm, hello?”

 

“Hi?” Akira greets, sounding just as tentative. That fact seems to hit both of them at the exact same time, and they laugh. Ryuji is both pleased and petrified when he hears the youthful, infectious quality of Akira’s laugh.

 

Pleased because this assauges any remaining suspicions that the person he’s been chatting with for the past two months is actually some old man trying to reclaim his youth. And petrified because even through the phone that laugh sends jolts of _something_ right through Ryuji’s brain.

 

There’s a long moment of silence on the line. It’s as awkward as awkward can be. “This...this is kinda weird, isn’t it?” Ryuji asks, breaking the silence.

 

“Oh, just a little,” Akira agrees readily.

 

“Don’t forget this was _your_ idea.”

 

A teasing lilt emerges in Akira’s voice, perfectly fitting his style of typing. Emojis and all. “Mhm. But if _I_ remember correctly, you were the one who said I need to talk about my _feelings.”_

 

“Which you still haven’t done,” Ryuji counters.

 

Akira sighs, and then there’s a soft thump as if he’s thrown himself onto something soft. On instinct Ryuji begins to wonder if Akira’s laying back in bed as well. If he is a NEET is his room plastered with posters from wall to wall? “I feel stupid worrying about it, I guess. There’s a big project coming up for work again, and everyone’s expecting me to do well--to do _better_ than before. I don’t wanna disappoint anyone or make a mess of things. And then my boss and her team are steering me in a direction I don’t even know if I wanna go in. But I can’t just... _disagree_ with them.”

 

“Why not? Don’t tell me she’ll fire you just for disagreeing with her?” That’s gotta be against the law.

 

“I won’t get _fired._ At least...I don’t think so. I should be protected by my contract… Even if they couldn’t fire me I don’t wanna be difficult and demand they change everything for me! Things are so much harder than I’d thought they be…And I don’t always know if this is what I’m meant to do.”

 

Instead of staring at the ceiling, Ryuji rolls over on his side to stare at the painting Yusuke’d gotten him for their joint housewarming party. It’s a wash of purples and reds, turbulent in a way that matches perfectly with the fluctuating emotion in Akira’s voice.

 

Ryuji hums, “Do you like your job?”

 

“What?”

 

“I mean…Do you enjoy what you do? Does it make you happy?”

 

Without hesitation Akira’s replying with an affirmative. “I do. It’s hard, and the hours are long, and a lot of my co-workers are giant divas. And _God_ don’t get me started on how fucking awful my pay was in the beginning.”

 

Akira’s tangent makes Ryuji laugh loudly, a bit too loudly for one in the morning. Covering his mouth to muffle the rest of his laughter, Ryuji manages to ask, “I asked if your job makes you happy! Why are you complaining about everything?”

 

“I’m just being honest!” Akira huffs, pout audible in his voice. “I spent a whole year getting paid less than the interns. I have the right to complain.”

 

Ryuji rolls his eyes, but maybe, just maybe, he’s still smiling.

 

“I heard that! I heard you roll your eyes!”

 

“How can you hear my eyes? And why are we so off topic?”

 

“That’s how conversations work, babe!” Akira quips, the pet name rolling off his tongue innocuously, but still managing to make Ryuji’s ears heat up. “But past all of the bullshit--and there is _plenty_ \--my work really makes me happy. I couldn’t see myself doing anything else, really….And I just solved my own problem, didn’t I?”

 

The realization elicits a self-satisfied grin from Ryuji at his (their?) success. “You did. My mother always says that when you’re unsure about something all you need to do is talk about it, and the answer will come to you.”

 

Akira makes a thoughtful noise. “Huh. Well, thank your mom and thank you. For everything.”

 

“I didn’t really do anything…” For some reason the praise is just as if not more embarrassing than the “babe”. It might be the sincerity in the Akira’s now gentle voice, emotions coming through clear as day. “I just listened, I guess.”

 

“You did more than you know,” Akira insists. Conversation begins to wind down, and the two of them bask in another moment of silence, this one a lot less awkward than before.

 

Basking in the companionable silence, Ryuji smothers a yawn out of politeness. In hindsight he’s glad that he does, or he might’ve missed Akira’s next words.

 

“I’ve been thinking...we should meet up. In person. Soon.”

 

_That_ most definitely wakes Ryuji up. “R-really?”

 

“What?” Akira questions right back. “You don’t wanna?”

 

“No! I mean, _yes,”_ The heat in Ryuji’s ears comes back with a couple dozen of fluttering butterflies in his stomach as Akira laughs at him with his stupid perfect laugh. He chalks it up to anticipation of finding Akira’s true identity. Nothing more, nothing less. “Whatever answer means I want to is the one I mean. I was just shocked. Y’know the catfish isn’t usually the one to suggest the meetup.”

 

“Nothin’ wrong with breaking tradition every once in a while.” Akira’s smile shines in his voice. And Ryuji is annoyed at how cute he finds that. “So where should we go? It needs to be somewhere public for safety right?”

 

“Right.” Makoto would just give up the ghost and kill him in cold blood if she found out Ryuji not only met up with someone who really might be a long-term catfish, but met up with them in some isolated area.

 

The other clicks his tongue, “Usually going out in public is a bit of a hassle for me, but I think I can work around it this time. Oh, I know! There’s a really cute coffee shop in Harajuku we can go to!”

 

“Harujuku’s good…” There’s always lot of people in that part of town. The odds of being kidnapped are slim. Which brings Ryuji to his most pressing problem with that plan: “But uh, I don’t drink coffee.”

 

“Oh well, you’re in luck! The place in Harajuku is famous for its bubble tea actually! And that should be sweet enough for your delicate sensibilities. So...are you free next Saturday? Around 1?”

 

Ryuji still can’t quite believe that he’s doing this. But he _will_ be free so he nods, before he realizes that Akira can’t see him over the phone. “Yeah, yeah I’m free.”

 

“So I’ll see you then?”

 

“Yeah, if all the work I have to do doesn’t kill me first.”

 

Akira’s voice takes on a deliberately cutesy edge, “You can’t die before our date! I forbid it!”

 

Blush rapidly spreading down his neck Ryuji protests, “Who said this was a date?”

 

“But _babe!”_

 

_“_ I’m hanging up. _Goodnight.”_

 

That night Ryuji goes to sleep with Akira’s light laughter still ringing in his ears.

  
  


~~~~~~~~

  
  
  
  


The time between the fateful phone call and the actual meet up feels more like twelve hours rather than twelve days. One moment Ryuji’s trying to fall asleep despite the already budding undercurrent of nervous energy in his body, and in the next he’s pulling on a black graphic shirt in preparation to head to Harajuku.

 

Part of him can’t believe the day has finally come, sure that Akira was going to claim something “came up” and cancel the date. Or even more likely, Ryuji was just going to have a fucking heart attack brought upon by nerves. And Akira occasionally calling him babe. Mostly that, honestly.

 

But against all odds Ryuji is _here._ Here being in his mess of a room, still damaged from hurricane that was finding that one particular shirt with the low cut sleeves. Paired with a pair of artfully ripped jeans, the whole look is balancing right on the cusp of being just hot enough (so that on the off chance in hell an actual idol shows up Ryuji won’t look totally inferior in comparison) while still being casual (so that if he ends up getting ditched it’ll just look like he was out getting coffee and NOT on a date).

 

Wallet? Check. Face clean and devoid of blemishes? Check. Wait. There’s something on his lip. Ryuji squints, leaning forward in the full body mirror he stole from his ex out of spite. Just the thought of the bastard makes Ryuji scowl.

 

Oh, false alarm. It’s just a bit of dried toothpaste. Hastily Ryuji wipes it away before bouncing around the room to grab his keys before heading out of his room to the door.

 

It doesn’t dawn on Ryuji until he’s got one foot outside of the apartment that he has indeed forgotten something important. Ryuji hasn’t actually told anyone he has a date--a meetup--today. No big deal unless of course Akira is actually some perverse old man or some kind of scam artist.

 

The latter is looking to be the most likely option, especially taking into account the distracting amount of flirting he’s been doing. NEETs don’t leave the house long enough to become proficient in flirting do they? Ryuji has absolutely _no_ idea. What he _does_ know is that if he ends up needing to be rescued out of the trunk of this guy’s car, Makoto Nijima will save him, then kill him, then rescussiate him only to kill him again.

 

So Ryuji puts his foot back into the apartment. He then turns on his heels to trudge to Yusuke’s room. Out of all of his meddling friends, the most bearable and understanding will always be Yusuke.

 

Yusuke doesn’t say anything when Ryuji knocks, but that’s nothing new. “Yo! I’m comin’ in. Please don’t be naked.” For good measure, Ryuji covers his eyes as he opens the door to stand in the threshold.

 

An unamused scoff reaches his ears. “Why would I be painting naked?” Yusuke huffs.

 

“Hey,” Ryuji defends, uncovering his eyes to raise them in the universal gesture of _I mean you no harm_ , “I don’t know what you artists do to get in the mood. Wasn’t there that one guy that banged his painting or somethin’?”

 

“Pygmalion,” Yusuke states, as if the name alone would mean anything to Ryuji. There’s a pause in which Yusuke streaks a line of red across the canvas he’s working on. As usual the room looks more like a studio than a bedroom, his bed and nightstand pushed against the far wall to open up as much floor space as possible. A dozen or so of canvases, all in various sizes, and most of them “in the process of being finished” lean against the other wall or sit on easels.

 

“And he wasn’t a painter, he was a sculptor. He loved his ivory sculpture so much Aphrodite granted his wish for it to become real. A touching myth from Ovid.”

 

Ryuji nods, words going in one ear and out the other. “I’m sure Oval did a great job.”

 

“It’s Ovid,” Yusuke sighs, finally turning around fully, probably to give his roommate a history lesson on classical Greek and Roman poets. Well, _another_ lesson. But he’s distracted by the fact that Ryuji isn’t in his standard issue track pants and a t-shirt. “Oh. You look nice.”

 

“Thanks,” Ryuji beams at him, though he deflates when Yusuke continues to look as if him looking good is some sort of miraculous occasion, “What? Why’re you staring at me like you’ve never seen me look nice?”

 

“You have to admit it’s a rarity. You tried to go to that wedding last year in shorts, remember?” Last time you willingly dressed up for something was when you went on that date.” Yusuke’s amused chuckle trails off suddenly when Ryuji’s face heats up and he averts his eyes pointedly.

 

There’s a pause.

 

“No way,” Yusuke breathes out.

 

Staring inside at the corner of a painting that’s either a woman lying down or a tsunami, rather than Yusuke’s gobsmacked face, Ryuji finally gets around to the whole reason he’s even here. “I actually have a date today. Well, not a date. A meetup. In Harajuku.”

 

What Ryuji had expected was a round of 20 questions and a lot of disbelief. But Yusuke just blinks at him calmly. “So Ann was right!”

 

_What?_

 

“We were all curious as to what was the cause of your increase in levity these days,” Yusuke begins to explain, cupping his chin in thought. He ends up getting paint all over his jaw. “I thought it was because you got that ‘Legendary Overwatch Skim’ the other day--”

 

“Skin, not skim,” Ryuji corrects on instinct.

 

“Ah, yes. Skin. But Ann said it was because you met someone new. Makoto thought it was drugs.”

 

Deigning not to even _begin_ to address Makoto’s train of thought, Ryuji focuses on the more important part. “Why are all my friends such gossips?” he groans.

 

Yusuke opens his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by a very loud _Ting!_

  
  
  


**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

  


**(12:23pm) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **abt to leave for our DATE!!!!! nd im dressed extra pretty to knock your socks off

 

A smile works itself onto Ryuji’s face, cutting through all of the nervousness brought upon by the idea of meeting the guy he’s grown way too fond of despite all obstacles.

  
  
  


**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

  


**(12:23pm) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **abt to leave for our DATE!!!!! nd im dressed extra pretty to knock your socks off

 

**(12:25pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** im not wearing socks

 

**(12:25pm) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **（◞‸◟）

  


When Ryuji looks up from his phone Yusuke is watching him with a badly contained smile. “Have fun on your date,” he says, eyes sparkling as if Ryuji were his child on their way to prom. “Be safe. I hope you don’t get, what the kids say, _catfished.”_

 

Ryuji takes a deep, calming breath. “I hope so too.”

  
  


~~~~~~~

  
  


The bubble tea place is the epitome of the word _quaint._ Ryuji steps inside, happy to be out of the light drizzle and into the brightly lit interior. He’s quick to scuttle off to the right side of the cafe, drawn by the relative lack of people and tables situated underneath delicate looking hanging light bulbs.

 

It’s still 10 minutes to one and Ryuji’s beginning to regret not following his first mind to meander around the block in an effort to waste some time. Instead he sends a text to Akira to inform him that he made it safely, and receives a bunch of nonsensical emojis in response.

 

Or if they do make sense they’re lost on Ryuji; after all he’s too busy watching each and every person walking into the cafe wondering which, if any, is his date. The oldest man Ryuji has ever seen is real life ambles in, and suddenly Ryuji’s shivering for reasons that have nothing to do with the air conditioner blowing directly above him.

 

Before Ryuji can get too caught up in the horror of possibly becoming a step _grand-father,_ a sudden shadow befalls his table.“Ryuji-kun?”

 

At the sound of his name, Ryuji looks up, eyes first drawn to a pair of legs snug in a pair of lightwash skinny jeans, up to an ash grey graphic hoodie, higher up to messy black hair, a black face mask and a set of circle rimmed glasses.

 

Slowly, oh so slowly, the pieces click together.

 

“No way,” Ryuji says. He’s gaping. Openly. Standing like two feet away from him is Akira. Not a look-a-like, not some scammer, but the real deal.

 

“Yes way.” Akira strikes a pose before sliding into the seat opposite Ryuji and taking off his mask. “Surprised?”

 

Ryuji’s “Hell yes” comes a few seconds too late. He’s caught up in staring, incredibly distracted by the expressive eyes, soft cheeks, and even softer looking lips. _God._ Thankfully Akira is highly amused by Ryuji’s partial mental shutdown.

 

“I told you I was me from the beginning,” he says, more than just a touch smug. He even goes as far to stick out his tongue.

 

The familiar attitude helps bridge the gap between the Akira Ryuji spent weeks messaging comfortably and the Akira sitting before him. (Ryuji still feels like there’s a chasm conveniently labeled ‘starstruck’ about 50 miles wide between him. But hey). It’s easy to slip into the kind of  banter they’ve become so good at. “And _I_ told you that literally no one would believe you were actually an--”

 

“Shhh! Don’t compromise my disguise!” Akira pouts.

“What disguise? You’re in a hoodie,” Ryuji deadpans. At a second glance he notices the Moschino logo against the print of a Roy Lichtenstein panel. So it’s a hoodie that’s easily 55 thousand yen. “Anyone can see how unnaturally handsome you are still.”

 

A warm hand creeps across the table to drum fingers on the top of Ryuji’s. “Well you know what they say,” the other begins casually, expression deliberately innocent. “People see what they want to see.”

 

Ryuji flushes in an instant, and in an attempt to save at least some of his dignity he hastily stands to make for the counter.

 

“I want a bubble tea!” And it’s clear by the tone of Akira’s voice that he knows _exactly_ what he’s doing. Bastard. Cute, hot bastard.

 

“What flavor?” Ryuji asks anyways.

 

“Honeydew!”

  


~~~~~~

  


“So will you finally tell me _why_ in the hell you chose some random dating app to use for hookups instead of, I dunno, picking one of the thousands of adoring fans you have? Or hell, even another _idol?”_

 

“I wasn’t necessarily looking for a _hookup,”_ Akira grumbles around the straw of his drink. His overgrown fringe falls in his eyes as he tilts his head in thought. “I just wanted to meet new people, I guess?”

 

“Don’t you meet, like, a million new people every single day?” Ryuji can’t imagine _Prtnr_ being more interesting than an industry party or something. More laidback for sure, but he can’t imagine other idols randomly asking for feet pics or something.

 

Or maybe they do. Who knows?

 

Akira makes a face. “Idol life isn’t always that...spontaneous all the time you know. You spend a lot of time with the same 40 staff members day in and day out. I only meet a lot of people at once at fanmeets, or parties.”

 

“Parties full of richer, hotter people I bet.”

 

“I dunno about hotter…” Akira drawls, glancing up at Ryuji through dark lashes, even as he reaches underneath the table to place a very pointed hand on the other’s thigh. The gesture, and the implications of it, take Ryuji off guard. One moment he’s drinking his own pineapple flavored bubble tea, and the next he’s choking on a tapioca pearl.

 

Akira, the flirtatious bastard, just laughs. No, he _cackles._ Throws his head back to borderline scream at the way Ryuji’s trying not to choke to death while simultaneously trying to cover his beet red face. The commotion draws more than just a little attention to their little table, but Akira doesn’t seem to care. He just keeps on watching Ryuji die (not really) with a fond look.

 

“You’re... awful,” Ryuji coughs around the still-there feeling of something in his throat.

 

Grinning still, Akira says, “I am aren’t I? But trust me, dating other celebs is more hassle than it’s worth. But then again, I never have to worry about another idol selling my personal phone number…”

 

Ryuji’s eye bug out of his head. “They do that?” Suddenly his phone, still with Akira’s number in it, feels heavy. He could make a small fortune off of a single number…

 

“Hey. I see the look in your eyes. Don’t even think about it,” Akira warns. His expression is between a scowl and a pout. “You’re the first non-staff person I’ve entrusted with my number post my debut. Don’t ruin that.”

 

“I am?” That’s surprising to say the least. The idol comes across almost too friendly in conversations. Surely he could have found someone else to safely give his personal phone number to, and he says as much.

 

For the first time since arriving, Akira looks serious. “I’m very careful with who I spend my time with. But I have a good feeling about you. Us.”

 

_Us._

 

The word carries a certain kind of weight with it, but Ryuji finds he doesn’t dislike it.

 

“Well you won’t ever have to worry about your info ending up on ebay,” Ryuji says, watching as that serious look melts off in favor of a soft smile. “I promise.”

 

“Good! Now tell me about the time you and your roommate almost caught a gyoza place on fire.”

  
  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


They end up talking in that cafe for hours. Drinks long gone, Akira tells him how no one on _Prtnr_ believed he was who he said he was (no shit), some prime idol gossip (as per Ryuji’s incistense), while Ryuji delights Akira with stories of his and Yusuke’s particular brand of roommate stupidity.

 

For the most part Ryuji is able to forget that sitting close enough to touch is the same idol that he spent watching for weeks on _No Shortcomings._ Only when Akira smiles in a certain way, drawing attention to just how unbelievably handsome he is, or when his latest single begins to play over their heads, does Ryuji remember he’s not just sitting and chatting with some random guy.

 

Ryuji prefers it when he’s not aware of it. It’s much easier to ignore the glaring gap between the two of them that way. At the moment they’re standing near the entrance of the cafe, done taking up space inside, but not quite ready to leave each other’s company.

 

“So where are you headin’ next?” Akira aks, pulling his mask up off his chin to cover the bottom half of his face. Ryuji still doesn’t think it’s much of a disguise, despite the other reassuring him that dressed down like that most people wouldn’t spare him a glance.

 

“Uhh?” Ryuji hesitates. Is this an invitation to hang out more? Is that okay? Doesn’t Akira have things to do? “Home? Well, stopping by the convenience store first to pick up some food for my roommate. But yeah...home.”

 

It’s clear Akira’s smiling, his eyes are curving into cute crescents. It is significantly _less_ clear what he’s smiling _about._ “Snack run? I’ll come with!”

 

“Don’t you have, like, idol things to do? We’ve spent half the day together already.”  

 

“Maybe I wanna make it the whole day,” Akira says petulantly. “But if you must know my schedule’s totally free today. We’re preparing for another comeback, so it’s mostly just meetings. Meetings about concept. Meetings about toilet tissue. Meetings about breathing.”

 

Ryuji perks up at the mention of a comeback. It’s been seven or so months since Akira’s last single. A comeback means new music, a new music video, weeks of performances on fan voted music shows. That’s the lifeblood of an idol and their fans.

 

But from the first time Ryuji’s really thinking about it from the idol’s perspective. All the preparation: deliberation, recording, dancing, getting a whole new look must be draining. Exciting but….a lot.

“Ah, so was that the cause of your ‘work troubles’?” Ryuji wonders aloud. All of their previous conversations are beginning to make sense.

 

Akira’s shoulders slump with a sigh. “Yeah. Management is hoping this next comeback will be even bigger than the last, and fans have been ravenous for a new album apparently. I wanted to have some of my own songs this time--”

 

“You write songs?” Ryuji blinks, amazed. For some reason he assumed most idols just took whatever songs were given to them. No real input in the process at all. “That’s so cool!”

 

Blushing, Akira looks away. “It’s not _that_ cool,” he rebuffs, rubbing at the back of his neck. Ryuji wants to yell _Of course it is!_ However, he’s so distracted by the rare glimpse of the pink in Akira’s cheek, just barely visible over his mask, that he can’t before the idol’s speaking again. “But yeah. I had wanted to have a song or two finished before comeback talks got started, but I hadn’t been able to finish a single song in eight months. For the longest I couldn’t find inspiration, you know?”

 

“What about now? Do you feel inspired?”

 

“Actually...yeah.” They make eye contact, Akira’s face unreadable in the stillness of the early evening. His already messy hair dancing in the breeze; it’s a benign scene, but something about it sears itself into Ryuji’s brain. This moment, whatever it is, feels pivotal. “Quite recently I found something quite inspiring. Now let me walk you home.”

 

“What?” Ryuji's used to the way Akira jumps from topic to topic in conversations, but he's confused as to why he's decided _Ryuji_ needs to be walked home.

 

The idol is quick to explain. “It's customary to walk your date home, isn't it? I'm a bit out of touch but I know basic etiquette.”

 

By now Ryuji's given up on convincing the other that this hasn't been a date. He's sure Akira likes saying that just to get him all flustered. “It is customary, but if anyone needs to be walked home it's you. What if you're mauled by a pack of rabid fans?”

 

“My AkiStar babies aren't _rabid!”_

 

Oh, he calls his fans _babies._ How _sweet._

 

Ryuji narrows his eyes, “I've seen some of the shit they say about you on Twitter. A fraction of them are definitely rabid. Which is why I don't understand why you don't have a bodyguard or something.”

 

“He does,” a gruff voice says directly to the left of them. If the sudden remark didn't scare Ryuji shitless, coming face to face with a man looking straight out of a yakuza film totally would. Akira doesn't react for the most part, just looks at the huge newcomer as one would an intruding parent.

 

“Ryuji-kun, this is my bodyguard, Iwai-chan.” Iwai gives a polite bow of the head, while Ryuji bows as formally as he can. Self preservation demands he gets on this guy's good side as quickly as possible. Not only does he have a good few inches of height over him, his shoulders look _huge_ even under the bulky gray jacket he's wearing.

 

Add the overall aura of retired yakuza boss that itches to chop off the fingers and toes of any foolish enough to cross him, and Ryuji is thoroughly intimidated. No wonder Akira isn't worried about being mauled by fans.

 

Iwai’s face softens a fraction of an inch when he looks at Akira. “Bodyguard. Glorified babysitter. Just depends on the mood of my client.”

 

Too afraid to laugh--or speak at all--Ryuji nods. Becoming a statue in the bodyguard's presence must be something of a common scenario, because Akira doesn't bat an eyelash at Ryuji's behavior, just maneuvers him to face the direction of the nearest subway terminal. “Well today your client wants to walk his new friend home. So I’ll see you later--”

 

Silently Iwai latches on to Akira’s hood, pulling him backwards. “You will not be going to a stranger’s home unattended. Especially not today when you have a meeting with the CEO.”

 

“Another meeting?” the idol allows himself to be removed from Ryuji’s side, but he pouts as pathetically as he can. “Already? They might as well lock me in the company building.”

 

“That’s certainly an option she’s discussed.”

 

It might be a trick of the light, but Ryuji swears he sees Akira pale at that. The company wouldn’t actually look him up, right? Contract or not, that has got to be illegal.

 

While Ryuji ponders the possible labor law infractions he may or may not have just become privy to, Akira sidles up to him with a cryptic sort of smile. “I had a fun time, Ryuji-kun.”

 

“Uhh, me too.” It’s a bit nerve-wracking to admit with Iwai staring at him over Akira’s head. Judging. Ryuji thinks back to his senior prom, and the way his date’s father watched him with open vitriol.

 

Akira, blissfully unaware of what’s going on behind him, just smiles brightly. Eventually Iwai tires of waiting and begins to tow the dark haired idol away by the hood of his shirt again. “We should hang out again soon!” Akira calls out. “I’ll call you!”

The warning look Iwai gives Ryuji is absolutely _scathing._

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  


“So I heard you went on a date recently with a _celebrity,”_ Ann says with a crooked smile. Ryuji, having come to the door to let her in, has half the mind to slam the door in her face. It’s creepy enough that she _knows,_ when Ryuji is still half convinced that the whole thing was a dream.

 

Akira still texts him daily, but it’s still hard to wrap his mind around. An idol with more than enough fans to occupy a small country, has his phone number. Enjoys talking to him. Surreal.

 

Back to the problem at hand. Ryuji looks at Yusuke, crocheting harmlessly in the living room. “You _told_ her?” he accuses. After the meetup Ryuji had told Yusuke everything that had happened in an attempt to confirm that it wasn’t just a convincing dream. In true Yusuke style, the painter was more interested in getting Akira to model for a painting than caring about his fame.

 

“About the date?” Yusuke spares the other a confused glance before quickly returning to the never ceasing movements of his crochet hook. “I didn’t tell anyone. You told me not to.”

 

Then how?

 

Ann’s twirling a strand of hair around her index finger, calm and collected as she drops a bombshell. “Oh, Yusuke didn’t tell me. I heard from the other party!”

 

The gears in Ryuji’s head creak slowly to life. It’s obvious _who_ the ‘other party’ in this situation is because last time he checked Ann didn’t have any connection to the up and coming idol. She’s styled lots of people sure, most of them famous in some way, especially now that she got that promotion she had been hoping for about a year back--

 

“Have you really been Akira’s stylist this whole time? And you didn’t _tell_ me?”

 

“I only got the job a few months ago! Besides, what was I supposed to do? Tell him my friend has a big hard-on for him?”

 

Seriously considering promoting Yusuke to the role of best friend instead, Ryuji pouts. “You could’ve at least gotten me an autograph. And given a heads up that the guy I was gonna meet was _actually_ an idol. I almost had a heart attack!”

 

“I figured it would be more fun this way!” Ann has the nerve to look pleased with herself. It’s becoming that much more clear why the general astrology obsessed public has beef with Scorpios.

 

When Ryuji’s stank face doesn’t immediately clear, Ann rolls out of the lounge chair she’d draped herself in to stride over (dodging all the skeins of yarn scattered across the floor) where Ryuji still stands in the center of the room. She drapes an affection arm around Ryuji’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “Aw, don’t feel bad! I haven’t told Akira anything weird about you! I just let him gush about you in peace.”

 

As if that’s any kind of conciliation.

 

Wait.

 

Perking up considerably, Ryuji turns in Ann’s hold. “He talks about me? Really?”

 

Ann grins. Hook, line, and sinker.

  
  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


Ryuji’s in the middle of a late night fridge run one night when his phone rings. For a moment he’s irrationally afraid that it’s his mother to tell him off for stuffing his face with junk food past 10pm. Relief courses through Ryuji when he glances at the caller ID, only to be quickly replaced with another emotion entirely.

 

It’s Akira.

 

“Hello?” Ryuji holds the phone precariously, one-handedly rummaging through the fridge with his free hand. Some of the leftovers are so old he can barely identify what’s inside. And why is there _paint_ in their fridge?

 

Akira, in his typical fashion, skips right to the chase. “Wanna get dinner with me?”

 

A plastic container holding what is either linseed oil or chicken broth falls from Ryuji’s hand with a soft _thump_ at the request. He pulls his phone away from his face to confirm that it is indeed halfway past 11. “Dinner? Isn’t it kinda late for that?”

 

“Not for me. I just got off work!” And on cue Akira interrupts himself to say goodbye to someone. “I wanna eat ramen, and I wanna see you! Why not do both at once?”

 

“And what makes you think _I_ want to eat at eleven at night?” Ryuji counters. Banter is becoming easier he finds. It helps that he can’t get distracted by the cat-like curl of Akira’s mouth when he knows Ryuji is going to give in to him anyways.

 

That smile might be impossible to see, but it rings clear in Akira’s voice. “Well, two things… A little birdy that goes by the name of Takamaki-chan told me you once said you’d go for a good bowl of ramen at any time of the day.”

 

“I see.” Ryuji makes a mental note to try and convince Akira to stay as far away from his best friend as possible. The two of them together have ‘Devilish Duo’ written all over them. “And the second thing?”

 

Akira pauses. Then he laughs. “Your fridge has been beeping this whole time.”

 

Oh. Very pointedly, Ryuji closes the fridge door, the beeping to indicate he’s been staring into its depths for way too fucking long finally stopping.

 

“So I’ll see you in Ogikubo?”

 

“Yeah, yeah.”

  


~~~~~~

  
  
  


Thanks to a laundry situation (i.e. he hadn’t done laundry in nearly three weeks) Ryuji arrives to the ramen shop a good fifteen minutes later than he wanted. Akira’s already there, tucked in the stool at the bar furthest away from the door.

 

He looks up with a smile as Ryuji approaches, and the blonde halts in his tracks, because _holy shit._

 

When Akira said he just finished working it hadn’t quite clicked that he would still be dressed to the nines. He really wishes he had; maybe then Ryuji would’ve done some deep breathing on the train in order to prepare himself for what’s sitting in front of him.

 

Akira tilts his head, confused at Ryuji’s reaction. “What?” the idol asks, playing with the dangling silver earring in his right lobe. “Do I look funny?”

 

“No,” Ryuji says carefully. He slides into the seat next to Akira, trying and failing to take nonchalant glanes at the absolutely ethereal being next to him. “You look good.”

 

Good doesn’t even begin to cover it. Akira looks way too chic to be sitting cross-legged in a hole in the wall ramen shop with his fitted slacks and fluttery, wide sleeved button down. The first two buttons are undone, and Ryuji has to force his eyes away from Akira’s collarbones up to his eyes.

 

Not that the subtle, yet effective eyeliner makes eye contact any easier. Ryuji only realizes when Akira breaks into a grin. “Thank you.” His smile turns into something that might be best described as a leer. Doubly so when he not-so-subtly checks Ryuji out. “You do too.”

 

Ryuji scoffs, but he still feels his cheeks warm. He gestures for the waiter to pass him a lemon flavored malt beer, making sure to give the onlooking businessman a few seats away a dirty look. “I’m wearing track pants and a hoodie. ‘S hardly couture.”

 

“Your ass looks good in ‘em so who cares?” Akira remarks without missing a beat, not even glancing over when Ryuji does an unintentional spit take from the shock. He just continues to stare at the menu behind the counter. “You ready to order?”

 

“Only if you’re done talking about my ass.”

 

“I make no promises.”

 

Ryuji finally turns to look at Akira head on since this round of flirting began with a burning question.  “Do you flirt with all of your friends like this?”

 

Akira’s expression doesn’t budge an inch. “Only the hot ones.” They stare at each other, Ryuji trying in vain to conjure up real words. Akira...who in the hell knows what the fuck he’s thinking. They’re interrupted by the sound of a throat clearing.

 

In sync both parties to find the host standing near them, nonverbally asking for them to order already or make room for other hungry customers. Ryuji doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to have his order taken.

 

Things simmer down after that. They settle into harmless conversation--no flirting--just average, run-of-the-mill friend to friend talk. Ryuji gushes about all the progress his latest charge has been making, soon she’ll have all the choreography down pat and be free of Ryuji and Yusuke’s care.

 

Akira has good news as well, apparently his song-writing has been going along steadily. Even the CEO, who doesn’t seem to be the easiest person to please, has shown pleasure in his efforts.

 

He’s in the middle of recounting the story of nearly getting coffee all over a loaned pair of Gucci slippers at the magazine shoot he’d just come from, when their food comes out, steaming and smelling amazing. Naturally conversation dies down in favor of shoving as much ramen into their mouths as possible.

 

“How do you even know about this place?” Ryuji wonders after a prolonged silence. It’s something he’s been wondering for some time now. While the place has some of the best affordable ramen this side of Tokyo, he’s sure that someone with Akira’s status--and bank account--could easily afford to patron a place much more...lux.

 

The person in question pauses, spicy beef noodles dangling from his chopsticks. Ryuji doesn’t know why he’s bothered to pay so much attention to Akira’s meal choice, but he does feel a sort of camaraderie at the other’s ramen based enthusiasm.

 

“Mm, I used to come here all the time when I was a trainee. It was one of the few places we could all afford. I like it here,” Akira looks around the lowly-lit place. “It’s personable and homey. Close spaces like this are my favorite.”

 

“I hadn’t noticed,” Ryuji mumbles under his breath, glancing purposefully at Akira’s stool pushed close to his so that their thighs are touching. Normally Ryuji would find the touchy feely stuff off-putting, but with Akira it makes him feel as though they’ve been friends for years rather than just months. It helps that he’s hot.

 

Interestingly enough, Akira flushes. It’s slight, but it’s there. Very, very interesting. “But y’know I haven’t been here for a while,” he continues on, wistfully trailing a hand across the wood of the bar. “This used to be our special spot when we were trainees. We’d come here and talk and talk about what we wanted to do once we debuted, all the fancy places we’d go and expensive food we’d be able to eat. Then after I got kicked off _No Shortcomings--”_

 

“That was bogus, by the way,” Ryuji interjects, unable to help himself.

 

Akira bows his head, flustered yet the smile on his face suggests he’s happy to have heard Ryuji say that. “You...you watched the show?”

 

“My roommate in college was obsessed with it,” Ryuji says around a mouthful of noodles. “So I kinda watched over his shoulder most nights.”

 

“I see. But after I got kicked off all my friends that went on to be part of the final 13 suddenly didn’t want anything to do with me once it was unsure if I’d ever debut. Could never bring myself to come back here. Too many memories turned sour.” He stares into his bowl, then laughs softly. “Honestly, I have no idea why I’m telling you this.”

 

Ryuji knocks their knees together, with a grin. “Don’t worry about it; I like getting to know you.” Prior to now, Ryuji’d never thought about all the sacrifices it takes to get to the top. He wonders if it’s been worth it. “And if you want we can always make new, better memories to replace the old ones. I’ll come here with you whenever you want.”

 

It’s hard not to blush in the wake of what he’s just said, and it becomes even harder when Akira’s head snaps up to look at him intensely. For the second time that night Ryuji finds himself staring into unblinking gray eyes. And yet again the idol’s expression is decidedly unreadable.

 

Then a slow, genuine smile creeps across Akira’s face. “I’d like that,” he says softly. Ryuji does his best to focus on the sentiment rather than the attractive quality of Akira’s lightly glossed lips.

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  
  


“I’m nervous,” Haru announces softly, as if the way she’s been practically tap dancing due to her inability to sit still doesn’t give her away.

 

Ryuji looks up from her shoes, the originally pristine sneakers now showcasing the trademark wear and tear of a dancer, up to her face. She’s wringing her hands nervously, and looking moments away from fainting on the waxed floors.

 

“Why?” Yusuke asks, totally oblivious to the tension in the room. He’s leaning against a floor to ceiling mirror like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Both Ryuji and Hifumi give him exasperated looks.

 

“You’re going to do fine.” Hifumi reassures Haru with a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’ve been practicing nearly everyday for weeks now. You have the choreography down pat. I’m sure of it.”

 

Haru manages a shaky smile, but it’s easy to tell how strained it is. Today is hopefully the day all of the practicing they’ve put in four times a week, five hours a day, pays off. Which is why they’re currently in one of the many sleek and clean studios in the Kirijo Entertainment building, Haru’s company, instead of Ryuji and Yusuke’s cozy rented studio on the other side of town.

 

Apparently while they were busy choreographing another group was commandeering the space, but now that they’re in the final stretch they’ve been summoned here. The space here is larger by far. Still, Ryuji prefers his studio.

 

No sooner does he have the thought does the creative director come bounding into the room, clapping his hands to get the evaluation on the road. All the backup dancers slowly peel themselves from where they’re lounging to get into position. Hesitantly, Haru follows them to her place in the center.

 

Ryuji gives her his best encouraging grin where he’s standing off to the side. He believes she’s got this.  

  
  


~~~

  


There’s a moment of heavy silence as the last notes of the song peter out. Even Ryuji, as confident as he was in the work they’ve all done, begins to feel pinpricks of nervousness trail down his spine. They could be looking at another two, three weeks of rearranging choreography if it isn’t satisfactory now.

 

Finally after what feels like _hours,_ the creative director breaks into a wide, genuine smile. “It’s perfect. Looks like we can start the video shooting on time after all.”

 

At his words the whole room breaks into cheers. All of the dancers huddle around Haru, hooting and hollering and bouncing around her happily. Hifumi wastes no time in approaching the creative director, probably to finalize details on their last payment for choreographing.

 

Ryuji can almost taste the celebratory sushi and alcohol now. Before he can get too carried away with daydreams of halibut and tuna, Haru breaks free from her still celebrating dancers to catch Ryuji by the hands.

 

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you!” With a surprising amount of strength, she drags Ryuji in a circle with her enthusiasm, “Thank you sooo much, Ryuji-kun! Yusuke-kun! Hifumi-chan! I won’t have been able to do any of this without you!”

 

“There’s really no need to thank us,” Ryuji laughs, Haru’s happiness infectious. “We were just doing our jobs.”

 

“Yes, if anything we should thank you for being such a passionate student. May the world feel your burning determination!” Yusuke strikes a pose, and Haru…..for some reason poses right along with him.

 

Not for the first time, Ryuji wonders if Haru is from the same alien planet Yusuke’s from. It’s to the point where if Yusuke stepped out of his skin to reveal a green exoskeleton Ryuji wouldn’t be surprised.

 

The dancers begin to file out of the room, eager to take the rest of the day off before the exhausting process of shooting the music video starts. This time they were only hired to do the choreo, at most they might be invited to set to review certain takes.

 

Though he is relieved to be done, now he has to worry about getting another paying gig--on his own. Yusuke’s scored a three month long gallery showcase later on in the year so he’ll be taking a brief hiatus to focus on that. Brief, and paid, hiatus.

 

Ryuji wishes, not for the first time, that he could paint well enough to make grant money. But he’ll worry about all of that shit _after_ he gets drunk tonight.

 

The Kirijo Entertainment building is huge, and it's a long trek from the studio to the entrance they came in. Ryuji takes his time as he walks through, the next bus doesn't come for a while so he's got time.

 

He's passing a bunch of solo practice rooms, each one is maybe the size of a closet, just enough space for someone to sit somewhat comfortably. There's a small window allowing a glimpse inside into the blandly decorated interior of each room.

 

From what he can tell they’re all empty, so he watches his feet on the sparkly, perfectly buffed tile flooring. Ryuji’s wondering how much such fancy tile costs--and more importantly wondering how fucking rich the CEO really is--when he notices the singing.

 

It begins as a soft murmur of a voice, smooth and stable. As the song continues, the voice gains in volume, lilting over lyrics Ryuji can’t quite place. His curiosity as to who such heavenly vocals belongs to increasing tenfold when they effortlessly blend to a high tone.

 

Whoever they are, they need to be performing all over the world, singing in front of royalty, and to be showered with all the love in the--

 

Oh.

 

Ryuji stops dead in his tracks now standing in front of the second to the last room on the right. For a moment he can’t do anything but stare in amazement, because there sitting cross-legged in the tiny little practice room is Akira.

 

The idol is surrounded by sheets of paper, both normal lined paper (covered in scribbles that must be lyrics) as well as fancy composition paper. His laptop is propped in a chair in the corner, painting the soft slopes of Akira’s face an even softer shade of blue.

 

He’s humming now, brows knit in concentration as he frowns down at the notebook in his lap. Deep in thought, Akira glances up in an attempt to glean inspiration from thin air when he catches sight of Ryuji still frozen in the doorway like an idiot.

 

Quickly the shock on his face morphs into a blinding smile. “Ryuji!” he calls out happily, scrambling to his feet and pulling open the door. “What’re you doing here?”

 

“Getting paid,” Ryuji slips his sealed check out of his pocket, waggling it just a bit. Now that there’s no panel of frost glass between them, Ryuji can see Akira’s got his bangs pinned back with cat-shaped hair clips. It’s so cute the blonde almost finds himself asking what _Akira’s_ doing here. As if the answer isn’t obvious.

 

Akira nods, “Ah, I remember Haru-chan worrying about her dance evaluation today. I told her not to worry; I’ve heard her choreographer is quite good.” He sends a cheeky smile up at Ryuji.

 

“Oh, really now?”

 

“Mhm,” Akira rocks back and forth on his heels. “So? Does this mean that you’re free to hang out now?”

 

The hand Akira isn’t using to prop open the door finds it way to rest amicably on Ryuji’s arm, the latter’s ears slowly turning pink at the action. He doesn’t know what’s more flustering: the gesture in itself or the fact that Akira’s that comfortable around him to indulge in such unconscious shows of familiarity.

 

“Now?” Ryuji thinks about the bus he should be catching in the next half hour, but aloud he says, “Sure.”

 

It’s worth it to see the ecstatic little smile Akira gives him. “Good! Come in with me for a while?” Though Akira poses it as a question, the insistent tugging on Ryuji’s forearm says otherwise.

 

“Can we even both fit in here?” Ryuji grumbles. Seriously, how can anyone stand to be in such a tiny space?

 

“Of course we can!” Akira shuffles the papers strewn about into a haphazard pile, clearing enough room for Ryuji to sit with his back propped up against the wall. He does so after being directed to. Then Akira folds up the chair to prop it in a corner, taking his laptop before plopping down next to Ryuji with a grin. “I’m happy you’re here! I haven’t seen you in a while.”

 

“We went out for dinner just two weekends ago,” Ryuji points out, but he can’t say he’s not pleased at the clear admission that the other enjoys his company.

 

Akira scrunches up his nose, looking adorably pouty. “That was so _long_ ago. We should make time to see each other as much as possible. I’ll be getting really busy soon, what with recording and everything starting up soon, so I won’t have as much free time.”

 

“Huh. We’re exact opposites then. You’ll be gettin’ busy as soon as my schedule clears up.” Not that Ryuji’s surprised; he’s seen how hectic things can get for Makoto whenever the star she’s managing is actively promoting a project.

 

For some reason, that fact has Akira perking up some. “You don’t have another job lined up after this one?”

 

“Normally we would,” Ryuji breaks eye contact to stare at the motivational poster against the wall--the only decoration in the room. _Hang in there!_ it says. “But Yusuke’s got some art thing he’s doing. ‘N then Hifumi--our manager-- has been talkin’ about seeing her folks in the countryside for a while, so we told to just her to take two weeks off for a vacation. While she’s gone I’ll ask around to see if anyone needs a dancer or anything, but if not I’ll have a break for a while ‘til somethin’ pops up.”

 

“I can ask around here if you want.”

 

Ryuji jerks his head around so quickly his neck cracks. “Really? You’d do that?”

 

“Of course,” Akira smiles like it’s no big deal. “I think I heard one of the higher ups say they were looking for a choreographer and dancers for an upcoming thing. I wasn’t paying full attention, to be honest. But I’ll definitely put in a good word for you!”

 

Then he leans forward, eyes glinting dangerously behind his glasses. “But it’ll cost you.”

 

That has Ryuji’s brows raising in surprise. “What could I have that you would want? I’m broke remember?”

 

“I do remember! Which is why it’ll cost you three more dinners.”

 

Beneath the teasing smile, there’s an open and genuine sort of affection that Ryuji is really only used to seeing from Yusuke. But this is notably differently. The flush that seems to sit permanently on Ryuji’s ears whenever Akira is around spreads to his face, and he ducks his head when he replies. “Okay. But that’s a pretty lame cost. We were gonna hang out anyways.”

 

Akira continues to look pleased, the proverbial cat that got the cream as he plays idly with the long drawstrings on Ryuji’s hoodie, “I don’t care what you say. That’s what I want.”

 

_That’s what I want._

 

The admission sends a pleasant thrill down Ryuji’s spine. It sounds too much like “ _I want you”_ so that the part of Ryuji that is _very_ aware that he’s been single for the better part of two years begins to jump to conclusions.

 

Conclusions he will not entertain, despite how easy it is with how cute Akira is and his eagerness to be around Ryuji and, most recently, to touch him. All of the possible flirting aside, Ryuji appreciates their budding friendship. The way Akira goes out of his way to respond to his texts and coax him out for coffee at some ungodly time of night.

 

Akira’s clear intentions to get to know him makes Ryuji want to trust him and try his hardest to be open. “Are you free tonight?” Ryuji asks, breaking the companionable silence between them. He doesn’t look up, but he can tell Akira’s listening when he makes a tiny noise of acknowledgement. “We’re goin’ out drinking to celebrate. You can come if you want.”

 

Perking up, the idol nods, “That sounds fun!” After a moment he deflates, “But we’ll have to go to one of the company owned bars near here. I kinda can’t...go out...anywhere anymore. Some people can get kinda weird.”

 

“Oh, that’s no problem.” Somewhat hesitantly, Ryuji pokes Akira in the cheek until he laughs. “Yusuke’s always looking for another place to get sloppy drink in.”

 

“Okay, I’ll be there. I might be a bit late; I have dance practice later, but I’ll be there.”   

 

And just like that, whatever apprehension Ryuji had felt in inviting _Akira,_ winner of new artist of the year at the Billboard Japan awards, to hang out with him and his totally not famous friends disappears. In its place is an overwhelming (and frankly terrifying) urge to kiss him.

 

To take his mind off of that absolutely _awful_ idea, Ryuji gestures to the messy stack of composition sitting now ignored in the corner. “I see writing’s’ been goin’ well.”

 

“It has. Thank God,” Akira pulls his notebook into his lap again to flip through a few pages, all of them covered in scribbles and the occasional doodle. Sometimes half of a page will be x’d out. “I’ve gotten three whole songs done already. Maybe one of them will even get to be the title track for this album, and that’s where the real money’s at.”

 

He grins impishly at the last part, and Ryuji can’t help but to snort. An uncharacteristic nervousness seems to come over Akira. He flips through his notebook, shoulders slowly hiking up to his ears.

 

But whatever he says is drowned out by the sound of the door opening.

 

“Hey, Akira I was wondering if it would be better if--Ryuji? What are you doing here?”

 

Both occupants of the room startle at the interruption, and Ryuji finds himself shocked for a second time because he most definitely didn’t expect to see Makoto standing in the doorway.

 

“What are _you_ doing here?” he counters.

 

Makoto raises an unimpressed eyebrow, crossing her arms and flexing lean muscles honed from years of aikido. “I’m _his_ manager.”

 

The blonde’s jaw drops. Are all of his friends bumping elbows with attractive, famous people and just not telling him? “Since when? You never told me you were managing a top idol!”

 

“You never asked,” she shrugs, nonplussed.

 

Ryuji then whirls on Akira, “And _you_ never told me your manager was my best friend’s girlfriend!”

 

“You never asked,” he imitates, batting his eyelashes innocently. Ryuji makes a low noise of discontent deep in his throat. Immediately Akira bursts into that same cackle-laugh from the bubble tea cafe. It’s _almost_ enough to make up for his disgruntlement. Almost.

 

“Now why are you here?” Makoto inquires, sounding more than just a little exasperated.

 

Akira rises to his feet in a single graceful motion, “I invited him.” He stands by the door, subtly trying to edge Makoto out of the room, almost like a teenager stopping an intrusive parent from invading their space.

 

The clearly suspicious way Makoto glances between the both of them, only makes the metaphor feel that much more real. Not wanting to overstay his welcome, Ryuji also stands up, inching towards the door.

 

Both Makoto and Akira make way to let him slip out of the room. And their expressions couldn’t be more different. The former is frowning, turned in the hallway so that she can burn holes in the side of Ryuji’s head with her eyes.

 

On any other day such a look would be more than enough to grate on Ryuji’s nerves. It’s not like he and Akira can’t be friends. They’re in the same industry, kinda. Akira’s a bit more elevated, sure, but they travel in the same circles. But it’s easier to keep his temper in check when Akira’s watching him, expression soft.

 

“See you tonight,” he waves goodbye. Suddenly Ryuji understands what people online mean when they say something gives them a major case of the “uwus”.

 

Ryuji utters a goodbye of his own before making a hasty escape out of the building before Makoto can grab him for a round of 20 questions. It dawns on him that she knows where he lives, so really it’s only a matter of time.

  
  


**(Money Making Squad + Heckler ▼ 4 People)**

  


**(12:22pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** it’s cool if i bring a plus one to our thing tonight right?

 

**(12:25pm) #1 Shogi Fan:** Why do I have the feeling you’ve already invited this person and we have no choice in the matter?

 

**(12:25pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** …

 

**(12:27pm): #1 Shogi Fan:** wow

 

**(12:28pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** i’m only asking out of politeness! it’s not like we dislike many ppl

 

**(12:29pm) #1 Shogi Fan:** Whatever you say. Who are you inviting? Is it the secret boyfriend we’ve all been hearing abt?

 

**(12:31pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** T

**(12:31pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** H

**(12:31pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** E

**(12:31pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** W

**(12:31pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** H

**(12:31pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** A

**(12:32pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** T

**(12:32pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** who told you that??????

 

**(12:35pm) Illegally Blonde:** i did, duh

**(12:35pm) Illegally Blonde:** hifumi-chan mentioned u’ve been a lot more annoying--in a good way i guess--lately and i told her it was thanks to my great idea

 

**(12:37pm) #1 Shogi Fan:** To be fair the term I used was ‘more vibrant’

 

**(12:37pm) Illegally Blonde:** that’s just a nice way to say annoying

 

**(12:38pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** rude

**(12:40pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** and i do not have a secret boyfriend. he’s not my bf at all

 

**(12:43pm) Illegally Blonde:** sure he isn’t. which is why u were all buddy buddy w/ him in a confined space earlier today

 

**(12:44pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** yknow i never took makoto to be the gossiping type

 

**(12:46pm) Illegally Blonde:** ;p

 

**(12:50pm) #1 Shogi Fan:** So this mystery guy. What’s he like? Is he a dancer too? Work’s the only time I see you socializing

 

**(12:51pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** That’s not true.

 

**(12:51pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** thank you yusuke. u’re a real friend

 

**(12:52pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** Ryuji sometimes socializes with the aunties at the grocery store. He says he’s charming them to get discounted meat!

 

**(12:55pm) Illegally Blonde:** you playboy!

**(12:55pm) Illegally Blonde:** how could you? preying on old ladies like that!

 

**(12:56pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** i’m not preying on anyone! i’m just nice to them!

 

**(12:56pm) Illegally Blonde:** BEGONE THOT!

 

**(12:59pm) #1 Shogi Fan:** Can we get back to the issue at hand? Tell us abt the mystery boyfriend

 

**(1:02pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** he’s not my boyfriend!

**(1:02pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** just a friend

**(1:07pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** and he’s not a dancer exactly…….he’s an idol actually. under kirijo ent. akira?

 

**(1:08pm) #1 Shogi Fan:** I never thought I would ever say this but:

**(1:08pm) #1 Shogi Fan:** Ryuji’s got game

 

**(1:10pm) Illegally Blonde:** ikr? its a miracle

 

**(1:12pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** shut up i can make FRIENDS no problem. but pls dnt make things weird tonight

 

**(1:13pm) Illegally Blonde:** oh dont worry. we wouldnt do anything to get in the way of u getting laid for the first time in a century

 

**(1:16pm) Yusuke van Gogh:** Indeed. We’d never hinder your mission to rid yourself of your chastity.

 

**(1:17pm) Illegally Blonde:** CHASTIITOTOTAKLLKAFKLFKLADFKLDAKLFLKFA

 

**(1:17pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** …..i don’t….i don’t even have my chastity anymore

 

**(1:19pm) Illegally Blonde:** certainly not after tonight *waggles eyebrows*

  


_Top Ryuman has left the group_

  
  
  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  
  


When Akira had told him they’d be going to a bar owned by Kirijo Entertainment Ryuji didn’t think they’d be going to one of _the_ hottest spots downtown. The bar-quasi-nightclub is in the trendy part of town--not as sketchy as the red-light district, but not as stiff as the wine bars scattered in the fancier parts of Tokyo.

  
  


**(You, A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~ ▼2 people)**

  
  
  


**(10:21pm) R_”Beefcake”_Sakamoto:** WHY didnt u tell me your ceo owns STARBAR???? we’re too broke to hang out there

 

**(10:59pm) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **you didnt look it up after i sent you the address? (⊙_☉)

**(11:01pm) A_kira (･ω <)☆~☆~: **nd don’t worry abt getting in! i pulled some strings (-ω-ゞ

  
  


“Some strings” ended up meaning that instead of dealing with the fairly lengthy line wrapping around the building they get an express ticket to the front. A bouncer checks them out at the door, checking for expensive camera equipment or any other evidence that they’re fansite masters in disguise trying to get impromptu pics of their favorite idol or actor.

 

To the shock of all of them, Ryuji’s name is on one of those proverbial “lists”, ensuring him and any of his friends have a express pass inside. Ryuji wonders when Akira had the time to set them up like that.

 

Inside the club is all dark wood and sleek, silver furnishings. The main bar is on the first floor, so is the dance floor that looks more like a sea of flailing limbs than anything else. Another smaller bar is upstairs along with a good amount of tables and booths. They order a round of drinks and settle in a large booth, cracking jokes and having a great time.

 

Thanks to a nice three hour long nap, the routine chaos that comes with going literally _anywhere_ with Ann Takamaki, the thrill of being out after so long (not to mention a few shots), Ryuji manages to forget to be nervous about his very famous plus one.

 

That is until Akira shows up looking like the personification of good sex.

 

If Ryuji were anymore tipsy the shot glass would have slipped out of his hands and made a mess all over his nicest (and sluttiest) shirt. No amount of alcohol can stop his jaw from dropping because the way Akira looks can only be described as ‘sex on legs’.

 

Not okay sex. Not that boring, missionary sex that you complain about on Twitter the next day. No, he looks like that kind of phenomenal sex becomes the pinnacle of fucking. Leather clad legs stride over while Ryuji’s still trying to remember who he is.

 

He’s sure that Ann is saying something to him, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Akira’s oversized striped shirt, cropped short so that whenever he moves too vigorously Ryuji gets a hint of his lightly toned stomach. Over that are suspenders, something that _should_ look dorky, but paired with what may be the tightest pair of leather pants imaginable, it’s just...effortless sexy.

 

“Hi,” Akira says lowly, almost shyly once he’s close to their table. (What someone who literally looks like they stepped right off the cover of _Nylon Japan_ could be shy about Ryuji doesn’t know.) Akira smiles at all of them, eyes sparkling, but ultimately his eyes always return to Ryuji’s.

 

“H-hey,” the blonde replies, still more than just a little shell shocked. The staring must be obvious because one of the girls on the other side of the table kicks him in the shin. Ryuji doesn’t appreciate the pain. He does, however, appreciate the reminder to be a decent human being. “You look nice,” Ryuji manages, a little breathless.

 

_Nice_ doesn’t even begin to cover it, but that’s infinitely more appropriate than _You could kick me in the throat at this very moment and I would say thank you._

 

Akira lights up at the compliment, “Thanks. You do too,” he says with an easy smile, sliding into the booth as Yusuke lets him take the middle seat.

 

Scoffing around her drink Ann mumbles, “You don’t have to lie.” Ryuji promptly sends her an indignant look, ignoring the way Akira’s hand lands on his thigh as he laughs in good humor.

 

“I’m not lying,” Akira defends, _still_ watching Ryuji gently, even going as far as to pet his bleached hair. It’s easy to get lost in the sensation of blunt fingernails combing through his hair. Too easy.

 

Yet another kick lands against Ryuji’s shin, effectively confirming Ann as the culprit. He should steal another one of her drinks in retaliation, but the kicks _are_ kickstarting the feeble little thing he calls a brain so that he jumps to at least try to be a good host. . “Ah, yeah. Akira this the gang. You know Ann, unfortunately.”

 

“I’ll have you know Aki-chan is _very_ fortunate to know me!” she huffs, glaring at Ryuji.

 

“She’s right,” Akira agrees, batting his lashes innocently over at Ann, getting a pleasant coo in return. “I am lucky. And I have to be nice to Takamaki-chan or she’ll put me in polka dots and plaid for every press event.”

 

Ryuji just rolls his eyes. “Suck up,” he mutters under his breath, infinitely proud of the way his voice doesn’t waver when Akira presses in tight against him. Instead he gestures over to Hifumi who’s been watching them with a curious look in her eyes. “This is Hifumi Togo, our manager. If it weren’t for her I would’ve died years ago.”

 

“Nice to meet you, Hifumi-chan!” Akira chirps brightly, extending his hand for a shake and practically _oozing_ charm. Unexpectedly, Hifumi flushes a bit, looking completely starstruck for a moment.

 

“Likewise,” Hifumi takes Akira’s hand. “Since Ryuji-kun likes you so much can you convince him to give me a raise? And take us out to eat meat?”

 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Akira says, glance sideways at Ryuji as he does.

 

_This was such a bad idea._

 

Hastily, Ryuji gestures over to Yusuke who has been patiently awaiting his turn. “This is my roommate and business partner, Yusuke.”

 

“Yes! The painter! I’ve heard so much about you!”

 

Yusuke’s eyes light up, “Ah, have you thought about my request to be my model? I would love to have someone with your stature as my muse.”

 

Simultaneously, Ann, Hifumi and Ryuji sigh. Trust in Yusuke to have no shame in asking a near perfect stranger to model for him. It’s a habit that’s had a surprising amount of success. Back in college there were rumors that an eccentric junior was constantly bringing home a slew of men _and_ women home, hardly ever the same one twice.

 

What the rumors failed to elaborate on was that said junior was just recruiting fellow students, workers on campus, and the like to model for a painting or sculpture. Ryuji’ll never forget coming home from work to find their neighbor from two doors down half-naked and standing on the coffee table.

 

And knowing Yusuke he’ll insist that Akira, what with his lean figure, pose naked. Ryuji thinks he’ll drop dead if that were to ever happen.

 

To his horror, Akira doesn’t look immediately put out. “He did not! Mm, I don’t have that much free time now, but you can always get in touch with Mako-chan. She’ll try and squeeze it into the schedule.”

 

“Don’t agree so easily,” Ryuji grumbles. “Unless you’re comfortable posing naked in our living room.”

 

Someone has pushed a lemon drop into his hands, and the idol takes a moment to lick fruity sugar off the rim before he speaks. “What? Is there another place in your apartment you want me naked in?”

 

All six of the last of Ryuji's sober braincells hold hands and dive off a cliff even as Ann laughs so suddenly it sounds more like a scream than anything else. Ryuji can't believe--actually yeah he can--that Akira would toe so heavily on the line between harmless banter and flirting in front of so many witnesses. And to do so with sugar still wet on his lips?

 

It really should be illegal.

 

Yusuke, God bless him and his one track mind, just nods. “You have a point. Reining one's subject in to one confined area it's conducive to pure creativity.”

 

“Let's do a toast,” Ann cuts in, eyes bright with mirth and mischief, “To an interesting night!”

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


Akira blends in so well with the rest of them it would be difficult to tell that he travels in circles _miles_ beyond the other four. It warms Ryuji in a way that he can’t explain--but then again, that could just be all the alcohol.

 

What most definitely _is_ the fault of the alcohol is someone’s (Ann’s) brilliant idea to play the king’s game. Even Hifumi, usually their much needed voice of reason, gives in with only a bit of needling. Ann happily brandishes the sharpie she keeps in her purse for emergency vandalism, using it to mark one through four plus a special symbol for the “king” on a handful of transparent cocktail straws.

 

The first few rounds are harmless, if only because Hifumi and Yusuke pull king first. Hifumi ends up getting Akira to spill one of the most shocking things he’s learned about showbiz since becoming an idol, then nearly sends Yusuke into a coma when she orders the person with his straw to request the speciality spicy cocktail that’s just four different types of spiced rum _and_ a jalapeno topper.

 

Yusuke gets a hold of Ryuji’s credit card, all of them sans the sulking blonde, given drunken suggestions on what he should buy. With each suggestion, the price tag steadily grows. In the end he settles on an eight pound bag of Lucky Charms marshmallows.

 

Cheaper than one of those crazy expensive gold chocolate bars Akira kept suggesting, true. But Ryuji’s gonna have to deal with Yusuke’s 3am sugar highs, and going off on tangents in his room.

 

Thing escalate as they were bound to do. Ryuji gets ahold of Ann’s social media and manages to lose 109 of her two thousand and something followers in three minutes. They all get a kick out of that. Ann swears revenge.

 

Which is how Ryuji ends up struggling for his life a few rounds later.

 

“C'mon don't be such a big baby!” Ann jeers at him, hands unyielding on the back of Ryuji's neck and lights reflecting off her sequined dress. She looks like some kind of high fashion demon, sent straight from the Vogue branch of hell to terrorize Ryuji specifically.

 

“That's easy for _you_ to say!” Ryuji yells back, doing all he can to wriggle from her grip. But apparently the gym _has_ been doing her well. Too well. “You're not the one protecting your innocence! This is like being kissed by my sister!”

 

Ann just shoots him a smug look that says _That's the point dumbass. My whole existence is to either aggravate or embarrass you_ . “Should've thought about the repercussions of your actions!” She cackles in his face. “Besides it's just a kiss on the nose! I know you haven't interacted with a woman in years but you won't _die!”_

 

Ryuji ignores Ann --he's had plenty of interaction with women, thank you very much-- in favor of throwing a napkin at Akira who's been chanting _kiss, kiss, kiss_ the whole time, and overall just being an adorable nuisance.

 

His moment of distraction is more than enough for Ann to forcibly pull Ryuji closer to land a sloppy one right one the bridge of his nose. Ryuji hastily slinks back to his seat, grumbling and scrubbing at his face the whole time.

 

Certainly nothing could be more uncomfortable than that.

 

As usual, Ryuji is proven wrong.

 

And as expected Akira is the one behind it all.

 

“Finally!” the idol cheers the very next round, “I’m the King!” He beams at all of them, way too excited and way too satisfied for Ryuji’s liking. Now that he thinks about it Akira _was_ spending a bit too much time rearranging the straws while Ann was ruining his life…

 

Yusuke claps encouragingly, drowning out Ryuji’s (hopefully) misplaced suspicions. “What is your royal degree?”

 

“Hmmmm,” Akira pretends to think, hand on his chin. His eyes roam around before settling on Ryuji. “I want number two to give me a kitten kiss.”

 

Without even looking at the straw in his hand, Ryuji _knows_ he’s pulled the number two straw. He doesn’t know how Akira rigged this, or _why_ he did this, but he just _knows._ One by one everyone else checks their straws, before turning towards Ryuji knowingly.

 

“Oh would you look at that,” Ann says, trying to act surprised, but is given away by the way she can’t keep a straight face.

 

Akira’s gasp is so fake the blonde has half the mind to tell him to never pursue acting as a side hustle. “Looks like you’re the lucky guy, Ryuji-kun! Now chop chop! Let’s get to kissing!” He leans forward as he speaks, eyes round and guileless.

“It’s even not a real kiss,” Ryuji protests, partially to pop Akira’s bubble even just a little bit and partially to stall for time. Sure it isn’t a real kiss, but they’ll still be nose to nose. Which is, without question, way too close for comfort. Technically it would be nearly the same gesture with Ann, and while _that_ was embarrassing, to bump noses with Akira would be something a million times beyond that…

 

For one: Akira’s hot. Not that Ann isn’t (Makoto has absolutely no problem reminding them all how hot she finds her girlfriend) but Akira is in a way that sometimes feels detrimental to Ryuji’s mental health.

 

This is most definitely one of these times. Akira continues to subtly lean forward, until Ryuji has a clear view of Akira’s hot pink eyeliner on his lash line, and can almost count the number of ridiculously long eyelashes. Observations that are helping him not at all.

 

Ann begins to make chicken noises, Hifumi giggling at them, which is enough to finally spur Ryuji into action. After one (or two) false starts, he leans in to gently rub their noses together. Ryuji keeps his eyes open, but Akira closes his, moving his head from side to side with a noise that could only be described as a purr.

 

Immediately Ryuji pulls back, face red. They hadn’t done anything but the action felt maybe three million times more intimate than an actual kiss. It doesn’t help that Akira’s still smiling at him warmly.

 

The sound of a phone’s camera jerks Ryuji back into the present. Hifumi’s holding up her phone, eyes wide in wonder. “I still can’t believe Ryuji’s got game.”

 

Akira tilts his head back and _yells._

  


~~~~~~

  
  


By the end of the night Akira’s managed to charm all of Ryuji’s friends (not that it’s hard, Ryuji begins to notice), but Ryuji still needs to work on his allure, it seems.

 

“What do you mean ‘it isn’t safe’?” Akira says, tone getting more and more petulant by the second. They’re outside of the bar now, Hifumi and Ann already been picked up by a sober Makoto and probably halfway home already.

 

Yusuke and Ryuji would be in a similar state if it weren’t for the fact that Akira is determined to crash at their place and Iwai is determined to do anything but that.

 

“Last time I checked safe has only one meaning, kid,” Iwai replies steadily. To Ryuji’s horror, the bodyguard is still as intimidating as ever, despite them crossing paths semi-regularly. “How would it look if you ended up in the trunk of one of these weirdos’ cars, huh? Then Kijiro would have _all_ of our heads.”

 

Akira launches into a passionate explanation on why that’s complete and utter _bullshit._ Ryuji is thankful his friend doesn’t actually believe he or Yusuke would kidnap him for ransom to his hundreds of thousands occasionally rabid fans.

 

The argument goes on for a while, the other two watching points ping back and forth like tennis balls. Slowly, Yusuke raises his hand to be acknowledged. “If it helps any, neither me nor Ryuji actually own a car.”

 

That makes Akira laugh a bit. His bodyguard doesn’t soften. By now Ryuji has half the mind to--very delicately--convince Akira to crash at his own place. Surely no impromptu sleepover is worth all of this trouble. But one glance at Akira’s sullen expression and slumping shoulders has that resolve wavering.

 

“If you’re worried about his safety, you can crash on our couch too, Iwai-san,” Ryuji half-jokes. The words tumble out before he has a chance to think about them, alcohol hindering his already faulty brain-to-mouth filter.

 

He _should_ have thought about them, because instantly Akira perks up. “Oh, good idea!”

 

_What?_

 

Even Yusuke nods, seemingly proud of his roommate’s excellent problem solving. “Our couch is indeed comfortable enough for a guest. That way Akira’s safety won’t have to be compromised.”

 

“Safety isn’t an issue here anyways,” Akira sulks. “I trust you two. There’s no reason why I can’t stay at your place. It’s closer anyways. What twenty-three year old needs permission to stay at someone else’s apartment?”

 

“I was hired to keep you out of trouble. ‘M just doing my job,” Iwai shrugs, though his face has softened some (that or he’s just being worn down by Akira’s stubbornness). “But…”

 

“But?”

 

“If you let me scope the place out first I guess it wouldn’t hurt.”

 

Akira cheers so loud it draws the attention of a few passerbys on the street. He launches himself into Iwai’s arms for a quick hug, then just as quickly he lets go and takes off skipping in the direction of the nearest train station.

 

~~~~~~

  


Iwai wasn’t joking when he said he’d case the place. Each and every room is subjected to his scrutiny as he looks for hidden cameras, drugs, proof of diabolical plots and the like. It’s just like what Ryuji’s seen bodyguards do on TV

 

In all honesty he thinks it’s kinda cool. If he weren’t so terrified that Iwai would find a reason to break both his legs, he’d ask the man a million and one questions. But he values his limbs so he sits in the living room, watching Iwai’s large frame ensure their humble abode is Akira-proof.

 

Yusuke doesn’t mind the intrusion much either; he’s been giving an awestruck (and still tipsy) Akira a mini tour of all of the artwork scattered around the apartment. Akira makes sure to ask questions or dole out praise with each new piece he’s introduced to, although more often than not his words are interrupted with sleepy yawns and alcohol induced brain lapses.

 

It’s really, really cute and Ryuji finds his eyes drawn to the way Akira is gesturing wildly to get his point across, sweater slipping off his shoulders, and the way his eyes get big in wonderment whenever he’s shown a particularly impressive sketch.

 

“Alright, it’s all clear,” Iwai announces, coming over to cast a large shadow over the couch. Resigned as he is to these turns of events, he doesn’t look pleased at all. “You have a schedule at 6 so be ready.”

 

Akira gives him a little salute, “Yessir! And I’ll be sure to tell Mako-chan to give you a raise!”

 

That has Iwai cracking a sliver of a smile as he shakes his head. He offers a final wave over his shoulder to Akira and a gesture of _I’m watching you_ to Ryuji before letting himself out.

 

Yusuke excuses himself to his room not too long afterwards, leaving a now grinning Akira and Ryuji alone together.

 

“You gonna take me to your room?” Akira asks, already tugging Ryuji towards his still closed door. Ryuji lets himself be pulled, flicking on the light as his guest gets comfortable on the bed.

 

If he had known they’d be having company he would’ve taken strides to clean up some. Mostly it’s just clothes strewn about as well as misplaced magazines and snack wrappers. It could be--and has been--worse, but Ryuji can’t quite squash the urge to want to have the best impression when it comes to Akira.

 

Not that it seems to matter to the idol. He’s just looking around, contentment rolling off of him in waves. “Why do I have the feeling all of this was an elaborate scheme to end up in my bed?” he doesn’t mean for his words to come out as flirty as they do.

 

The totally shameless look Akira sends him as he leans back on his palms, shirt riding up in the process, isn’t helping either. “You caught me,” he giggles. “But your room really suits you!”

 

“It’s messy,” Ryuji states, pulling off his jacket and tossing it on the back of his desk chair.

 

“That’s why it suits you.”

 

“I should’ve let Iwai drag you home,” Ryuji sighs, even as Akira cracks up at his own joke.

 

Akira rolls over on Ryuji’s bed--as if it were his own bed that he has full rights to roll around on--so that they can make eye contact. “You know you love me,” he gloats.

 

Truthfully it’s more than just a little difficult to keep a straight face in response to the L word. Akira hadn’t even meant it like _that_ , but Ryuji’s heart is still threatening to beat right out of his chest. “I _tolerate_ you,” Ryuji amends, hiding the involuntary, smitten smile on his face by turning towards his closet to begin to hang up his neglected laundry.

 

His bed creaks a bit as Akira hops off, bare feet shuffling across the floor. “Aw, don’t be like that,” he coos, loosely draping himself on Ryuji’s back. If he notices the way Ryuji’s shoulders hike up to his ears, the idol at least has the decency to not tease him about it.

 

Instead he rocks them back and forth, humming low in Ryuji’s ear. “You know you _looove_ me,” he repeats.

 

“Go to sleep,” Ryuji orders, trying and failing for the fifth time in a row to get a stupid shirt on an equally stupid hanger. His traitorous hands are shaking just a bit.

 

“I can’t sleep without a shower,” Akira pouts. “Can I borrow some of your clothes?”

 

Ryuji heaves another sigh. The more time he spends with Akira the more it feels like he’s taking care of a stray cat he found. “You insist on sleeping over and don’t even think about bringing your own clothes?”  

 

There’s a shrug from behind him. “What can I say? I’m pretty impulsive.”

 

“That’s an understatement,” Ryuji says under his breath, earning himself a hard pinch to his arm. “Ow! Okay, okay. You can borrow some clothes. I’ll get ‘em now; you can shower first.”

 

“Thank you, Ryuji-kun!” Akira nuzzles into his back happily. And for a moment Ryuji’s transported back to the bar, the image of Akira’s blissed out face millimeters away from his. Eyes closed, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks.

 

But then Akira’s finally letting him go, taking all the warmth (wanted and unwanted) with him. And Ryuji can breathe again.

  


~~~~~~

  
  


When Akira steps out of the attached bathroom, he brings with him a billowing cloud of soap scented steam. Ryuji’s already changed into his sleep clothes, he’ll shower in the morning, and is sitting at the foot of the bed checking his social media.

 

The bed dips a bit signaling Akira’s return. The blonde continues to stare down at his phone until an insist toe pokes him in the back. With an inquisitive hum Ryuji turns only to have his breath stolen away because Akira is wearing _his clothes_.

 

He’d only just loaned an old t-shirt given away free at some event and a spare pair of sweatpants. It’s nothing special, but paired with Akira’s now bare face and damp, untamed hair he looks unbelievably homey.

 

But back to the poking, yes.

 

Akira pats the side of the bed he’s not occupying, “I wanna watch you dance.”

 

“Here? Now?” He’s more than a little confused by the request, but at Akira’s insistent patting he obliges and sits next to him. “It’s, like, 1 in the morning, we’re on the third floor, and there’s barely any space here.”

 

Akira pinches him again. “I meant videos, you idiot!”

 

“What makes you think I have any?” Ryuji jerks his arm out of reach when Akira makes to pinch him again.

 

With no way to attack without putting in any effort, Akira settles for rolling his eyes. “You told me once before you used to record dance videos. I wanna see ‘em!”

 

“I mentioned that in passing weeks ago. And you remembered that?”

 

After getting a hand-me-down camera from Ann after she upgraded, Ryuji would choreograph and record stuff for fun. Nothing serious, and he was never looking to gain much recognition from it. It was more so just his enjoyment of moving around than anything else.

 

“Yes I remembered,” Akira says, finding his nails interesting all of a sudden. He peeks up through the mess his fringe has become. “Why? Is that weird to you?”

 

“’S not _weird_ , it’s just--” the blonde struggles to find the right words for a moment, making an appropriately befuddled face. Ultimately he gives up, not wanting to say the wrong thing. “Ugh, never mind. Pass me my laptop? I’m pretty sure you’re sitting on it.”

 

He is, actually, sitting on it. It takes a bit of wiggling, but eventually Ryuji’s beat up laptop is successfully handed over to him. Akira takes a proffered earbud, perking up considerably when Ryuji finds a video he deems to be worthy enough to view.

 

It’s nerve-wracking to sit there and wait for Akira to be done. There’s the latent awkwardness that comes with showing anyone something you’ve created, awaiting praise or criticism like some kind of puppy. But it’s a whole ‘nother ball game when you’re trying to impress someone that’s worked with industry renowned choreographers. Oh god, what if Akira straight up laughs in his face--

 

“Whoa,” Akira breathes out, “You’re really good.”

 

Ryuji blinks at him, taken aback. “What?”

 

“You’re good,” Akira repeats, confident and sincere. “You can really feel the passion in your movements. And that’s the important part. Seeing that someone really loves what they’re doing is just--why are you looking at me like that? Surely you’ve been told you’re a good dancer before?”

 

“No, I mean _yes_ I have. But you’re _you_. A compliment from someone like you is...different.” Ryuji trails off lamely, Akira’s piercing gaze becoming too much for him to withstand.

 

“Good different?”

 

Something about the hopeful way Akira asks that, makes him smile. It also makes his stomach want to do somersaults.

 

That’s not something he necessarily dislikes.

 

“Yeah, good different.”

 

“Then say thank you, you dick!” Another pinch lands on Ryuji’s thigh.

 

“Ow!” Ryuji tries to squirm away, but is denied a full escape when he nearly falls off the edge of his full sized bed. He frowns as Akira laughs at him, loud and unrestrained. “What is _with_ you and pinching today?”

 

The idol raising his hand again in a threatening gesture, and Ryuji is quick to say his thanks.

 

“I don’t know why you’re making a big deal out of this though,” Ryuji closes his laptop again, rolling away to slide it on the nightstand behind himself. “That video was nothing special; just somethin’ quick and for fun. I haven’t really danced just for fun in a while.”

 

Akira makes a sympathetic noise, “Why not?”

 

By now the two of them are both laying down facing each other. The only light comes from the window, slitting through the blinds to bathe the room with the silver light of the moon and the street lights outside. Ryuji supposes that’s why it’s so easy to open up.

 

That and Akira.

 

“I dunno,” he admits slowly, “I guess I’ve just been so busy with work and not starving to death and doing everything for everyone else. I haven’t really been in the mood to dance for...fun. Wow, that sounds lame. I’m like all of those 40 year olds on TV that end up in the mountains to get away from city life.”

 

“Those 40 year olds have a point, though,” Akira laughs. He’s got a hand curled up under his chin and the other settles on Ryuji’s hip. “Adulthood can suck the fun out of anything, even the things you love. I spent half my life training to be an idol, and I thought it was all I ever wanted and then it’s like one day I realized it wasn’t making me as happy as I thought I would...” He hums, pensive.

 

“What about now? Are you happier now?”

 

Akira’s cloudy expression is replaced with a sunny smile. “I am! I think I had more fun tonight than I have in a while, so thank you.”

 

Even in the perpetual darkness of the room, Akira’s gratitude shines clearly in his eyes. It makes Ryuji want to run screaming from the room; he can’t handle someone looking at him like that. “I could tell you had fun,” as usual Ryuji relies on teasing Akira to avoid saying something to give away how much he really wants to kiss him right now. “You were practically begging for someone to dance with you.”

 

Unsurprisingly, Akira is not ashamed of his behavior. “You can’t go to a club and _not_ dance! That was one of my first times going to a club since I came to Tokyo! I had to get the full experience!”

 

“Really? I figured idols are partying nonstop. Even I used to go out most weekends.”

 

“I didn’t have the time,” the idol shrugs, but Ryuji can tell that missing out on some of the carefree times that come with being young and not contractually obligated to practice singing and dancing all day everyday weighs on Akira’s mind. “I could never see the logic in getting drunk until 3 only to have to go to a shoot at 5 still fucked up. Not that there was anyone at the company I trusted well enough--other than Takamaki-chan--to go out with.”

 

“Whoa,” Ryuji makes a face. “Is everyone at your company that bad?”

 

“No! Not at all. At least I don’t think so...” Akira pauses to think, lips pursed. “Entertainers can just be very competitive. And some people wouldn’t hesitate to encourage you to get black out drunk so that they can sell pics of you throwing up on a bar to the nearest gossip site.”

 

Scary... Ryuji’s no stranger to competitiveness. As a former athlete and then a dance major, he’s seen just what lengths people are willing to go for the top spot. If his classmates were willing to lose their minds over A’s and center positions, he can only imagine how crazy idol hopefuls can be.

 

“Well you never have to worry about us selling you out,” Ryuji pats the idol fondly. “Feel free to get as sloppy drunk as you want. Just no puking on anything of value or I’ll sue you.”

 

Akira’s laugh is warbled thanks to the yawn that seems to wrack his whole body. Tears stick in the corner of his eyes once he’s done, “I know I can trust you,” he says with a sleepy smile. “Meetin’ you has made the hard times worth it, y’know? I always...have fun when I’m with you.”

 

Ryuji watches in rapt fascination as Akira’s eyes droop, heading nodding in his struggle to stay awake. He struggles valiantly, but finally nods off completely only moments after he finishes speaking. The moonlight paints his features soft, making the idol look younger and more gentle.

 

If Ryuji takes a minute to watch the way Akira’s lips move as he mumbles in his sleep, well, that’s between him and the moon.

 

It’s strange to be sharing his bed again after so many months of solitude. Ryuji briefly considers relocating either himself or Akira to the couch, but even the idea of disturbing such a deep and peaceful sleep seems cruel. So Ryuji makes himself comfortable, careful to not jostle Akira around too much (it’s kinda hard when Akira keeps trying to tangle their legs together as he shifts around in his sleep).

 

Eventually Ryuji gets into a position that is both comfortable and decidedly _platonic_ , and is lulled to sleep to Akira’s rhythmic breathing.

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  


Ryuji wakes up to a weight on his back. Literally.

 

Slowly, his senses return to him one by one. First he notices that it’s still dark out, which explains why he’s still tired as all get out. Feels like he’s gotten only maybe thirty minutes of sleep.

 

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for him to realize that Akira’s been calling his name for some time now.

 

“Ryuji-kun. Ryujiiiiiiiii. Earth to Ryuji,” he whispers into the darkness, poking the lump of blankets Ryuji’s become. “Oh my god. Are you dead?”

 

“’M not dead,” Ryuji croaks, voice rough. “Why’re you botherin’ me?”

 

Akira finds that funny. How he can be so chipper before the ass crack of dawn is very much lost to Ryuji. “I’m not _bothering_ you. I just wanted to tell you it’s time for me to go.”

 

Though he knew it was bound to happen--Akira has one of the most high-paced jobs in existence after all--Ryuji feels a bit disappointed that he has to go so soon. Wanting to be a good friend, Ryuji fights the lethargy still hanging over him like a 500 pound weight to see his friend off.

 

“Mm, what time is it?” he asks, raising up on his forearms, though his eyes remain closed.

 

“5!” Akira chirps, sounding not at all affected by the time.

 

“You only got 3 hours of sleep?”

 

Mumbled as his words are, Ryuji’s concern must shine through because Akira runs a reverent hand through his mussed hair. That feels nice, and Ryuji can’t help but smile.

 

“Yeah, we’re shooting a variety show today. They always start early. But don’t worry, I’ve run on less sleep before,” Akira laughs when Ryuji makes a disgruntled noise back at him. “That’s just the biz! I can sleep later; today’s a short day.”

 

Ryuji finally manages to crack his eyes open, maneuvering himself to sit on the edge of his bed to give the other a look that clearly says _You better sleep_. It must not come off as serious as he intended it to be because Akira only coos and ruffles his hair again.

 

It only lasts for a moment, which is unfortunate. Akira begins to putter about the room, collected his thrown about belongings. “Where’re my clothes from yesterday?” he asks.

 

“The desk,” Ryuji rubs at his eyes, “I folded ‘em up after you showered.”

 

“How _sweet_ ,” Akira coos again. “Oh, but I probably shouldn’t show up to the shoot in leather pants... Can I have these clothes?”

 

“You can _borrow_ them.”

“Same difference.”

 

They bicker back and forth as Akira gathers his things until there’s a knock on the door. Knowing it’s Iwai (even their annoying ass neighbor that tried to file a noise complaint on them for using the _blender_ wouldn’t be up knocking on their door this early), Akira follows Ryuji to the door.

 

Iwai seems pleased to find Akira alive and in one piece when they answer the door together. But it’s hard to tell exactly.

 

“Thank you for taking such good care of me,” Akira says, going as far as to give a mock bow. He’s tucked the oversized t-shirt into the sweats a bit, paired with a stolen snapback of Ryuji’s he’s looking effortlessly stylish. It’s almost offensive.

 

“It’s not like I had a choice,” Ryuji rebuffs quickly, averting his eyes from the attractive mole on Akira’s collarbone. He can feel Iwai’s judgmental gaze. Oh, wait. Judgmental might not be the right word.

 

The bodyguard is looking at him expectantly, and when Ryuji glances over at Akira he is too. What do they--

 

“Do you...Do you want me to walk you out?”

 

Akira beams, and Ryuji knows he made the right choice. And he swears that there’s a glimmer of begrudging respect in Iwai’s eyes.

  
  


~~~~~~

 

**(Satan but with Pigtails ▼ 2 people)**

  
  


**(9:02am) Illegally Blonde:** so i heard u sleep with a certain idol last night

**(9:02am) Illegally Blonde:** congrats on popping your cherry!!!!!!!!!!

 

**(11:47am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** BLOCK ME BACK

 

**(11:50am) Illegally Blonde:** NEVER!!!

**(11:50am) Illegally Blonde:** YOU’RE STUCK WITH ME FOREVER!!!!!!!

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  
  


When Akira said he’d be busy in the next upcoming weeks, he meant that. They went from seeing each other once a week in person to meet up for late dinners to going back to texting almost exclusively.

 

It almost feels like Ryuji’s gone back in time to when he thought Akira was some kind of awkward weirdo hiding behind an idol’s image. (Akira really _is_ a weirdo, but not awkward at all. Just an excitable, affectionate, cute weirdo). The major difference is now they talk on the phone a lot; Akira making sure to call him when he has a spare break between recording, his voice hoarse from the singing all morning, or in between photoshoots or meetings.

 

Ironically, the less Ryuji sees of _his_ Akira--a mortifying, but fitting way to describe it--the more he sees of professional, idol Akira. One day he wakes up to see that the photos of that one shoot the idol had just come from the first time they got ramen together posted all over social media.

 

And even though Ryuji had seen Akira in the flesh, still in the same jewel toned shirt and slacks, it’s hard to reconcile the person he knows and the person posing haughtily in the pictures. It makes him feel funny.

 

He still saves some of the pictures to his phone.

 

Besides that, Ryuji spends his time doing some hard cleaning around the apartment in between contacting fellow dancers and previous employers to see if there’s anyone needing a dancer in the upcoming weeks. It’s not that Ryuji doesn’t trust Akira to try and get him a hookup with someone in his company, he’s more worried that whoever it is wouldn’t want to work with a relative no name in the industry.

 

Plus it never hurts to have a backup plan.

 

For a week and half Ryuji spends his time playing assistant to Yusuke (which is exhaustive in itself), DIYing things around the apartment (regrouting tile is actually really good stress relief), and most surprising of all: dicking around in their studio for the sole purpose of having fun and trying new things out.

 

He’s actually getting dressed to do exactly that when Makoto barges into the room. And the scream Ryuji lets out when the door swings open suddenly is about three octaves too high.

 

“Wha-what the hell! Makoto?” Ryuji covers himself with the shirt he just peeled off. At least he’s still wearing pants. “Have you ever heard of freaking _knocking_?”

 

Makoto gives him a withering look, as if _Ryuji_ were the one out of line, “Please. It’s not like you have anything I want to see.”

 

“Yes I know, Queen of the Lesbians. But what about my innocence, huh? I have rights!”

 

“Just hurry up and get dressed so we can go.” Makoto shuts the door without another word.

 

Go _where_? Ryuji wonders, but knows better than to linger and quickly gets dressed.

  
  


~~~~~~

  


“So where are we going again?”

 

They’re in Makoto’s car heading somewhere. For whatever reason she hasn’t told them where they were going, as if Ryuji should know already. A thought comes to him, and he pales.

 

“If this is about your 4000 yen I swear I’ll pay you pack by the end of the week. You don’t have to torture me or anything.”

 

“Do you really think I would kill you over 4000 yen?” Makoto asks with a long-suffering sigh. She spares him a judgmental glance as they wait at a red light, her hand tapping to the beat of the song playing over the radio.

 

Ryuji regards her suspiciously, “Is this a trick question?”

 

At the next red light Makoto makes sure to hit the brakes as harshly as possible to get back at him.

 

Eventually they end up in a familiar area of town, in front of a very familiar building. The Kirijo Ent. building is still as imposing and impressive as ever with it’s sleek design and overall aura of success.

 

Relieved that he isn’t actually going to be murdered or, even worse, taken to a salon to have his hair lopped off and dyed back to a more natural color like Ann has been threatening to for the longest, Ryuji turns to Makoto. “Oh, why didn’t you tell me this was about Haru’s choreo? You could’ve saved me a minor heart attack!”

 

“We’re not here about Haru-chan,” Makoto says simply, pulling into her reserved parking spot with ease. Before Ryuji can ask her then what in the hell he is there for, she’s already climbing out of the car and heading into a side entrance.

 

They take an elevator up to the tenth floor. Unfamiliar with this part of the building, Ryuji trails after Makoto, taking in the bustle of people and the tasteful decor. After yet another lengthy walk they arrive at what looks to be a meeting room. Ryuji can tell the room’s occupied by the blurry shapes he can see through the frosted glass panel of the door. But before he can question what in the hell is going on, Makoto’s pushing open the door and Ryuji is met with the sight of a grinning Akira on the far side of the large round table.

 

He pats the open seat next to him, and though very confused, Ryuji obliges. Makoto takes a seat across from the both of them, someone sliding paperwork over to her immediately. She sorts through them for a moment before steepling her fingers as she lifts her gaze to meet Ryuji’s. “We’re here today to offer you a position to be the head choreographer for Akira’s next title track,”

 

Ryuji’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head.

 

This must be a joke, or some kind of extensive, and very realistic dream. He turns to Akira, waiting for the _just kidding!_ But instead of laughing in his face Akira just wiggles excitedly. “I told you I’d ask around to see who needed a choreographer!”

 

“Yeah, but I didn’t think that would include _you_.”

 

Akira merely shrugs, as if what he wasn’t providing Ryuji a healthy check and possibly the best chances for exposure he could ever be offered. The only thing better for his career would be going on tour with Beyonce.

 

Ryuji wonders if this is what it’s like to have connections.

 

“So are you free to do that?” Makoto asks, professional mode on. Of course she knows he’s free; Ryuji’s complained about how bored he’s been with no work more than once in their group chat.

 

Influenced by Makoto’s professionalism, as well as wanting to but on his best face in front of the Kirijo Ent. employees he doesn’t know as personally, Ryuji plays along. “Yes, my schedule’s free for...well a while?”

 

“Good. Akira requested we reach out to you _explicitly_.” The emphasis on the last word makes Ryuji flush. “The comeback is planned to be in another two, three months. If you accept you’ll be choreographing for the title-track and possibly one other song for music show performances. Depending on how certain things shake out we might even need you to be in the music video as well. Which, of course, will come with extra payment.”

 

Still in a daze, Ryuji nods. He could be in an idol’s music video. Holy shit.

 

“We’ll have more specific details in the next few weeks when it comes to payment, but we can worry about that later. So. Do you accept?”

 

Ryuji can’t help but to glance at Akira, who’s staring at him with open expectancy. “Yeah--I mean--yes. I accept. Uh, you can forward all of the specific stuff to my manager when she returns from vacation.”

 

Hifumi really won’t believe this. Not only did Ryuji get a gig (mostly) on his own, it’s a _good_ gig.

 

They iron out a few things, one of the employees giving him a run down of the tentative schedule as well as a badge and instructions on what studio to go to. All the time Akira is practically vibrating in excitement next to him.

 

Once the meeting comes to an end Ryuji is escorted back down to the ground floor by Akira himself. This is the first time they’ve met face to face since that impromptu sleepover. For whatever reason that makes Ryuji impossibly nervous.

 

It’s not like that night changed anything between them. And it’s not like Akira saw the incredibly affectionate smile on his face when his borrowed shirt and sweatpants arrived on his doorstep, washed, pressed, and a handwritten note of thanks attached to it.

 

Maybe Ryuji’s just nervous over the fact that Akira’s kinda his boss now.

 

“So...I guess I should thank you? For, uh, everything?”

 

Akira knocks their shoulders together amicably, “Don’t mention it! It was just good timing. And look! Now we can hang out and get work done at the same time!”

 

Normally Akira’s cheeky smile would be more than welcome, but now it just knots the coil of anxiety sitting in his stomach even tighter. Ryuji doesn’t think he has full on imposter syndrome--he wouldn’t really consider himself a _fraud_ \--but there’s always been a part of him that wants to go the extra mile, in fear that what he has done isn’t quite enough.

 

But if Akira got him this opportunity more so that they could spend more time together, maybe he actually is a fraud.

 

Ryuji feels like he’s going to regret asking. Though he would regret not asking more.

 

He thinks.

 

“Is that why you asked for me to choreograph for you?” Ryuji stares at the fancy tile as he asks. “So you could see me and work at the same time?”

 

“What?” Akira stops short in the hallway, expression a mixture of surprise and guilt. “Not at all! I’m sorry that came out wrong didn’t it? I wanted to work with you. Not because we’re friends or anything, I really believe in your talent.”

 

The face Ryuji is making must convey some of his lingering dubiousness, because Akira places a hand on his shoulder. “I’m serious. When it comes to my work I don’t prioritize fun, or just having a good time. I want this next comeback to be successful. And I’ll do anything short of murder to get to be as good as possible.”

 

Akira levels him with a look so serious--so unlike his usual easy-going, flirty attitude--that he can’t doubt his sincerity. It’s like Ryuji’s just caught a glimpse of the Akira that posed for those pictures, exuding power and influence out of every pore.

 

“Okay. Sorry I just--”

 

“Don’t apologize. You were right to ask, I didn’t really word that right at all,” Akira gives him a wry smile. “But I honestly do think that you’re what we need to make this comeback something amazing!”

 

“Somethin’ amazing, huh?” It slowly begins to sink in that Ryuji Sakamoto, twenty-three years and old only a year out of college, is going to be working with his close friend that just so happens to be an idol. “No pressure or anything.”

 

Akira regards him quietly, before flashing an excited smile of his own. “No pressure.”

  


~~~~~~

  


It should come to the surprise of no being alive, dead, fictional or some fourth thing that Ryuji is nervous when he makes his way to the Kirijo Ent. building a few weeks later.

 

Akira had called him a week or so after that meeting to gush that the title track was pretty much finalized and that they could get to work once management gave the okay.

 

He’d also gotten a call from Hifumi, back from her vacation, to tell him just how much he’d be making. Well, how much _they’d_ be making. Hifumi might not have set this particular gig up, but she always gets a cut for handling the nitty gritty and managing their expenses. And though Yusuke isn’t choreographing with him; they’re a team. Of course he gets a cut.

 

After all, there’ll be a lot to go around this time around. Ryuji thought he had misheard the amount of zeroes. It just gives him yet another reason to be nervous. He doesn’t want to mess this up and miss out on payment opportunities like this for the rest of his natural born life.

 

Which is why he has to wipe his palms on his lucky pair of track pants before stepping into the Kirijo Ent. building. First he checks in with the front desk, then heads towards their designated practice studio. Idly, Ryuji wonders what the vibe of this comeback will be.

 

If he remembers correctly the last few were upbeat amd kinda boyish, nothing too scandalous or anything. Ryuji hopes this one isn’t anything cutesy; that’s his least favorite style of dancing to choreograph. Makes him feel weird. Something sexy would suit Akira well, with the smooth way he moves and decidedly seductive smiles, but Ryuji both abhors and cherishes the idea of being trapped with Akira for hours on end and forced to watch him sexy dance.

 

A billion things are swirling around in his mind, which is why Ryuji’s quite thrown off when he steps into the studio to find Akira and Akira _only_.

 

The idol in question is standing in the middle of the mirrored studio, weight balanced on one leg, the other stretched behind him and arms aloft in a perfect arabesque. Ryuji’s knowledge of ballet is spotty at best--though he appreciates the art form, he could never get into the rigidity of it--but Akira’s form looks nearly perfect.

 

It doesn’t take long for Akira to notice him, what in a room full of mirrors and all. “You’re here!” he exclaims, gesturing Ryuji to come further into the room and put down his duffel bag full of essentials.

 

“I am,” Ryuji looks around the studio curiously. This studio feels a bit more lived in than the other one he visited. There are errant stickers and doodled on sticky notes plastered on the mirrors, a crate labelled “lost and found” sits in a corner (and almost completely full of shoes), and there’s a....a half-full water bottle sitting on a light fixture? Huh?

 

But what continues to draw Ryuji’s attention is the lack of people. Surely, Akira plans on using backup dancers? Even the best dancers in existence use backup dancers.

 

“But am I early or somethin’? Pretty sure I was supposed to get here for 9.”

 

“You were,” Akira grunts, now on the floor to do a round of seated toe touches. “But I told everyone else to get here a bit later. Figured you’d wanna listen to the track a couple of times so you can get a feel for it. I’m really excited about the song.”

 

“I think everyone in Tokyo knows you’re excited,” Ryuji laughs as he joins Akira on the floor for stretches. He tries to not pay attention to how tight his practice leggings are or how he’s practically doing the splits. “But that’s good, yeah? Bein’ proud of your work.”

 

“Yeah. At least I think so. It certainly helps ease the sting of the inevitable criticism that comes the moment I do anything. I think the last thing I heard was that I’m riding on the success of _No Shortcomings_ and that my company paid for people to vote for me.” Akira says casually, staring impassively at a mirror as he pins back his bangs.

 

He sounds totally resigned to getting hate. Ryuji guesses he should be; people literally get paid to be assholes to celebrities on the internet.

 

Ryuji wants to say something comforting but he’s more than aware that anything he says would just come out sounding hollow. So instead he nods when Akira asks him for the third time if he’s ready to hear the track now, laughing at the way the idol rushes to sound system.

 

Good news: it is indeed an upbeat track.

 

Bad-but-still-also-good news: the song is very sexy.

 

A slinky, bass heavy beat fills the room, Akira’s heavenly vocals layering on top to create something straight from Eros himself. He tries to focus on the lyrics, but it’s hard when Akira’s staring at him, eyes dark.

 

It’s usually impossible to guess what the idol’s thinking on good days, but in this moment Ryuji can’t even parce what the look on his face means. There’s no expectation in his gaze: he _knows_ his song is good. Doesn’t need Ryuji to reaffirm that, but his eyes are still...searching.

 

For what, he has no fucking idea.

 

“This the song you wrote?”

 

Akira finally cracks a smile, proud. “It is. Everyone decided it was a good time to change up my image a little bit. I wanted to show my sensual side.”

 

“Oh really?” Ryuji watches as Akira pushes himself off the wall, striding over to where Ryuji still sits on the floor.

 

“Mm. I was thinking about the difference between love and lust. How you can attract hundreds of people, when all you want is that one, specific person.” Akira stops mere centimeters away, head tilted as he looks down at the blonde. They lock eyes and Akira’s eyes dilate. Like a cat watching its prey. “When all you want is the best of both worlds: to be held like you’re loved, but fucked like you’re desired.”

 

Ryuji swallows, mouth suddenly dry. He’s wearing short sleeves, but for some reason the room feels scalding. Who knows how long the two of them stare at each other, one of Akira’s hands finding their way into Ryuji’s hair again, petting gently.

 

This time, the gesture feels charged with...something.

 

“So,” Akira begins, breaking the silence. “Ready to get started?”

 

“Y-yeah.”

  
  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  


Besides that moment that was, as Ann called when he relayed the gist of it to her later, full of sexual tension, the first practice goes by without a hitch. For about an hour Ryuji and Akira play through the track a couple of times, Ryuji picking Akira’s brain for any particular key moves he’s envisioning.

 

Then Akira’s nine-piece crew had trickled in, all of them full of energy and eager to dance. Ryuji was struck at how _nice_ everyone was. He had half expected to deal with catty remarks or judgments on how a relative nobody managed to be main choreographer.

 

Later Ryuji had found out Akira’s been working with the same dance team since debut, creating a sort of familial unit. He admitted that working as a soloist could be lonely at times, considering most jpop acts were groups, so having a consistent dancing “family” to work with gave him a sort of comfort.

 

A touching sentiment that came out when they danced. Immediately Ryuji could tell they worked well together, changing formations without hassle, and easily moving in sync. What really excites Ryuji is how good everyone is.

 

He could definitely get used to working with top idols.

  


~~~~~~

  


A month later Ryuji’s in the studio again, nodding in approval as Akira goes through the choreo again. Everyone else has left for a lunch break, and while Ryuji would like to leave for a food run he knows if he bounces sans Akira he’ll be the on the receiving end of heavy duty pouting for the rest of the day.

 

So he sits. He waits. And he critiques. Out of the three he critiques the least. Akira’s good. Not a new statement; Ryuji’s seen his live performances here and there (and if it’s a song he really liked, each and every one of them during the promotion cycle). But watching a video on Youtube doesn’t compare to watching him move up close and personal.

 

Akira doesn’t even seem to notice Ryuji’s attention on him, too caught up hitting every beat, executing each move with as much perfection as he can muster. That’s the one thing Ryuji hadn’t expected. When Akira gets into the zone, he gets into the zone.

 

One of the other dancers had joked that the Kirijo building could catch fire and Akira wouldn’t notice as long as music was playing. Ryuji thought it a gross dramatization at the time. Now? He’s not so sure.

 

Ryuji had assumed he’d be spending half the studio time getting Akira to focus, but if anything he has to work to get Akira to _unfocus_. Of course he still jokes around, teasing dancers when they forget moves or when a shoe flies off turning a kick (which happens way too often), just not as much as Ryuji had expected.

 

Ryuji’s stomach growls then, embarrassingly loud even over the music. Akira laughs so hard and so suddenly he has to stop mid spin. “Hungry much?” he teases.

 

“First you trap me here with no food other than those gross energy bars--”

 

“Don’t insult my energy bars!”

 

“They’re _gross_ ,” Ryuji insists, throwing himself back to lay on the floor. “Diet food was sent from Satan’s asshole, I’m tellin’ you. But first you trap me in here with your awful, disgustin’ energy bars. And now you make fun of my bodily functions? This is workplace cruelty!”

 

Akira’s smiling face appears over him, “I’m awful, aren’t I?”

 

“The worst.”

 

The idol offers a hand to help Ryuji up, “Would food make it up to you?” A pointless question: they both know it will. Still Ryuji nods, eyes lighting up. “I’ll take you to the finest dining establishment this company offers,” Akira brags.

 

Ryuji takes the proffered hand, standing as well. To his surprise once he’s on his feet Akira doesn’t let go of his hand, just continues to tug the other towards the elevators.

 

“Fine dining?” Ryuji muses, staring down at their conjoined hands. “Do you mean the company cafeteria?”

 

“The one and only!” And then Akira begins to _skip_ , tugging Ryuji along with him out of the practice area of the building. How and why Akira has so much energy, Ryuji may never know.

 

As usual the cafeteria on the ground floor is only somewhat occupied. Employees get special currency cards that allow them to purchase anything from the food court style cafeteria. There’s a gift shop too, open to the public even. He and Akira had checked it out once, the latter getting embarrassed when Ryuji found all the merchandise with the idol’s face on it.

 

There were even life-sized cutouts of him. Which are, apparently, a best seller.

 

The two of them make idle conversation as they pile food onto their trays. Ryuji’s in the middle of delivering a Yusuke update (he finally came out of his room after a 32 hour lockdown as he reached “critical mass” on another masterpiece) when someone calls from across the room:

 

“Aki-chan!”

 

Both Ryuji and Akira turn towards the voice, and while Akira breaks into a wide smile, Ryuji remains rooted in his spot because Souji Seta, one half of the arguably most popular second generation idol duo _YuYuuki_ , is waving them over to sit in his presence.

 

Ryuji follows on the trembling things he calls legs, hoping that he doesn’t look as intimidated as he feels. He’s lucky, at least, to have Akira. The younger idol is totally unbothered, plopping down in one of the expensive looking chairs across from Seta-san and the man he’s with.

 

“Yosuke! Souji! Long time no see!” Then as if Ryuji were some kind of great treasure, Akira gestures over at him with a flourish. “Oh, let me introduce you. This is Ryuji, you know the choreographer I told you I was working with? Ryuji-kun this is Souji Seta and Yosuke Hanamura. They’ve been really good to me ever since I signed on to the company.”

 

Seta--Souji--smiles in a way that’s almost motherly at Akira, eyes bright under his trademark fringe. It’s a strong contrast to the naturally intimidating aura he exudes on and off stage. Then his gaze roams over to Ryuji, and his smile, though still warm, is decidedly different. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve always wanted to get to talk with Akira’s c--”

 

Two things happen at once. First, Hanamura-san, who up to this point has been sipping at a Dr. Salt NEO calmly, not so subtly (and not so gently) jabs Souji right in the side with his elbow. And the second is the telltale thump of a foot hitting Souji’s shin.

 

To his credit, he barely even flinches. Which is...terrifying actually.

 

“I was gonna say choreographer,” Souji huffs, rubbing at his side.

 

“You better have,” Akira growls.

 

Thoroughly confused, and unwilling to even try to figure what the fuck is going on, Ryuji turns to Yosuke. “So what do you do here, Hanamura-san?”

 

“Just Yosuke’s fine,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hearin’ people call me Hanamura-san makes me feel old--”

 

“You _are_ old,” Souji interjects.

 

Yosuke shoots the other an irritated look, though Ryuji’s sure he sees more than just a little affection beneath it. “We were born the same year, you dolt. But I’m not an idol or anything. I’m actually this guy’s manager. Seems I’m the only one that can keep him in line.”

 

His tone is probably meant to be resigned, but a note of pride shines through loud and clear.

 

Akira must notice it too, because he’s smiling over his sandwich, “It’s because you’ve been married for, like, a decade.”

 

“Don’t say a _decade_ ,” Yosuke grumbles under his breath, “We haven’t--wha? Hey! We are not married,” he protests, while Souji positively _beams_.

 

“You have to admit it. We are kinda married. How else can you explain our unbreakable bond?”

 

The brunette groans, but allows his boyfriend(?), husband(?) to lean against him, not unlike a lounging cat. “Maybe I’ve got a new form of Stockholm Syndrome? I spend so much time with you, managing all your shit I’ve practically been conditioned to love you.”

 

It takes a moment, but Yosuke seems to realize his use of the L-word (in front of others no less!) and he flushes bright red. Souji looks absolutely elated, rubbing at Yosuke’s ears with an open sort of affection Ryuji almost envies.

 

PDA must be the norm for the couple, because beyond a few adoring coos Akira ignores them in favor of discussing new and old company gossip.

 

Over the course of lunch Ryuji learns: the CEO once scared a fifty something year old investor so bad with a single glance, they fled the building in tears, the third floor recording studio is apparently the best place to go if you wanna get hot and heavy without getting caught, and that Yosuke ended up as Souji’s manager after finding the then trainee lost in a residential area after chasing a stray cat.

 

Ryuji’s pleasantly surprised to find that even Souji, a veteran top idol, is so down to earth. A bit eccentric, but Ryuji’s more than used to eccentricity. There’s something about the bickering, yet obviously in love, married couple vibe the two of them give off that is comforting in a way.

 

That doesn’t mean Ryuji doesn’t consider going with Akira when the idol expresses the need to harass a cafeteria worker for a piece of the castella cake he’s convinced they have stashed in the kitchen.

 

Ultimately he decides not to, in fear of coming off too clingy. Something he immediately regrets. No sooner has Akira rounded the corner, away from all the tables back towards all of the food, does Souji turn to Ryuji with an excited look, “So--”

 

“No.” Yosuke tells him.

 

Souji presses on, nonplussed. “So. Akira talks about you a lot, you know. Like, a lot a lot. Some may even say too much for you two to just be friends.”

 

Unsure if that’s an accusation on his or Akira’s part, Ryuji just stares blankly. He’s only just now overcoming the fact that he’s eating lunch with the one of the men his mother routinely cries tears of joy over. Throw in the idea that Akira would have a crush on _him,_ or vice versa (which is a lot more likely), and all of Ryuji’s brain cells have gone off the rails.

 

“What did I tell you about meddling?” Yosuke sighs as if he and Souji have had this exact same conversation more than just a few times. “Please don’t pay attention to this idiot. He’s just been restless ever since he twisted his ankle last month. He’s been trying to mother hen everyone in the company.”

 

Ryuji nods. “Oh, yeah. I think my mom cried all day when she found out you had to go to the hospital after that incident. She’s a big fan.” Hopefully they can keep talking about this, instead of...yeah.

 

The distraction seems to work. “That’s so cute,” Souji places a hand over his heart, a pleased smile on his face. “It’s thanks to fans like her that I’ve been able to make such a speedy recovery.”

 

Yosuke scoffs, throwing down his chopsticks. “That and the attempted meddling.”

 

“I am not meddling. I’m...helping.”

 

“Even though no one asked you to.”

 

Souji deflates with a sigh. “Fine.” The way he begins to sulk is very Akira reminiscent, and Ryuji begins to wonder if this is who Akira got the bulk of his bad (but still cute) habits from.

 

“Please forget anything you’ve heard this big dummy say,” Yosuke tells him. Unlike Ryuji, he isn’t giving in to the sulking idol next to him. “It’s the pain meds talking.”

 

“I’m not even on pain medication anymore,” Souji says to himself, still sulking, just as Akira returns with a loud greeting.  He’s still without cake, instead he has a note taped to his shirt that says “scion of greed” in perfectly written English.

 

It’s safe to say that his cake quest was not a success.

 

“So what did I miss?”

 

_Your friend thinks we have some kind of love affair going on,_ is what Ryuji thinks. What he _says_ is nothing because Souji stops sulking to respond faster than Ryuji’s brain can come up with something.

 

“Ryuji-kun here was just telling us that his mother was so upset when I sprained my ankle last month, she even visited a temple to pray for my wellness,” Souji gushes.

 

Akira laughs lightly as Yosuke rolls his eyes. “He didn’t say that at all.”

 

“Oh she actually did,” Ryuji says, smiling harder when Yosuke just gives up the good fight and lays his head on the table.

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  
  


Back upstairs, Akira’s pushing open the door to the practice room when he stops short. “Oh! I almost forgot! Are you going to Haru’s showcase next week?”

 

“No?” Frankly Ryuji doesn’t quite know what a showcase is, let alone why he would be invited to one.

 

“A showcase is kinda a preview of an artist’s new album for the fans,” Akira explains, finally pushing open the door to let them inside. “Since this is Haru-chan’s first one, a few of us were thinking about showing up to support her. I figured you’d have heard about it.”

 

Bold assumption for Akira to think Ryuji talks to anyone in the building besides him. Ann is pretty much MIA, always busy picking swatches and negotiating with designers, so unless its about how suede shoes should just cease to exist, he’s getting no news.

 

Ryuji gives the other a look, “I pretty much spend all of my time with you, so unless you tell me something I probably haven’t heard it.”

 

A few of the dancers that have returned from lunch and have been--blatantly--listening in to their conversation begin giggling and talking rapidly among themselves. Akira narrows his eyes at them before returning his attention to Ryuji.

 

“That is true, huh?” he looks pleased. “But are you free next Monday? Wanna go together?”

 

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking if you’re busy?” Ryuji rebuffs, not saying yes despite both of them (and probably everyone else in the room) knowing that he will eventually.

 

“I can always make time for important things. So I’ll pick you up at around 8?”

 

“8’s fine,” Ryuji says, giving up on even trying to reprimand Akira on his habit of steaming ahead with plans with or without Ryuji’s approval. By now everyone has trickled back in, and Ryuji ignores Akira and his self-satisfied smile to meander over to the stereo.

 

They can run through things a few more times altogether before breaking for solo practice. So far they’re right on schedule and..there’s someone sleeping on the couch.

 

Normally the couch is used as a place to wake up before morning practice, valuable real estate in that it’s a million times more comfortable than the floor. Which is why the stranger is absolutely knocked out, curled up in a ball and using jackets that probably don’t belong to him as makeshift blankets.

 

Ryuji turns to everyone in the middle of the floor confused, gesturing at the couch. “Uhhh..?”

 

“Oh,” a dancer--Chie he thinks her name is--peeps around Ryuji to squint at the stranger. “That’s just Minato-san. He does this a lot.”

 

Huh. Tilting his head a little, Ryuji can now see that the person sleeping on the couch really is the other half of _YuYuuki_. Why he’s sleeping in their practice room instead of literally anywhere else is a mystery. Ryuji is just beginning to accept that to be an idol you have to be more than just a little weird. Or maybe the idol life turns you weird.

 

He asks Akira exactly that, and gets a swift kick in the butt for it.

 

Akira’s so incredibly lucky that he’s cute.

  


~~~~~~

  
  
  


The next week there’s a knock on Ryuji’s door at 7:30 sharp. He’s only half dressed, nice pants on but still rocking a holey t-shirt. More than anything he’s taken off guard. Ryuji had assumed when Akira meant 8 he meant 8 o’clock exactly. Good thing he showered already.

 

But back to the door. Ryuji pads out of his (clean for once) room, throwing open the front door with a quip about Akira’s unusual punctuality on the tip of his tongue. It fizzles quite quickly once he realizes that the person standing in front of his apartment couldn’t be mistaken for Akira even if Ryuji were blindfolded.

 

For one, this guy is huge. Taller even than Iwai, and just as broad shouldered. He’s wearing a charcoal gray suit that fits him so well it must be custom tailored. The sharpness of his suit offsets his bleach blonde hair and tough guy looks.

 

Ryuji might’ve guessed wrong when he thought Iwai was part of the yakuza but this guy... He takes in the scar on his temple and the nearly invisible eyebrows and swallows nervously.

 

“You Sakamoto?” tall, blonde, and scary asks.

 

His voice is even somewhat thuggish. Oh god, he hopes Yusuke isn’t in another one of his art-induced trances (or just plain passed out) and can hear him if this breaks bad. Not that he’s a strong fighter in the first place. Crap.

 

But Ryuji’s thinking too far ahead. At least he hopes he is. “Uh, yeah I am? Can I help you? ‘M sure I took all my loans out through a reputable source.”

 

Thug stranger looks taken aback, face softening enough for Ryuji to start to reconsider the yakuza angle. A real thug wouldn’t be so shocked to be seen as...well a thug.

 

“I ain’t here for your money, dammit!” thug(?) stranger yells defensively, cheeks a bit red. “’M Souji’s bodyguard! He told me he has a delivery for you.”

 

That explains the suit and the overall aura of “I can and will punch your soul right out of your body”. Ryuji relaxes for a second, but after realizing that he could very well be getting lied to, raises his proverbial hackles once again.

 

“Then how do you know where I live?”

 

“Takamaki-san. Who else?”

 

Who else indeed. If Ann knows this guy well enough to comfortably send him to his house that must mean he really is a bodyguard. Prank happy as she is, she wouldn’t actually send a gangster to his apartment. At least he thinks so.

 

Ryuji’s still a touch wary, but he follows the bodyguard outside where a very fancy car sits parked on the curb. One of the tinted windows rolls down to reveal Souji, all dolled up with a lap full of flowers. “Ryuji-kun,” he drawls. “Just the person I was looking for. You’re going to Haru’s showcase right? Would you do me a favor and deliver these for me?”

 

“I am going...and I can deliver them...” Ryuji approaches the car a touch nervously. And here Ryuji thought Akira was intimidating when he was dressed for work. Souji’s sharp eyes only look that much all-knowing. It doesn’t help that he looks up to no good. But that could be the eyeliner. Still, Ryuji treads cautiously. “But why come all this way to get me to do your favor?”

 

Souji just smiles pleasantly. “Well if you must know, Akira-chan and I paid for these together, so since I can’t make it to the showcase now of course I’d entrust these to Akira. But knowing him he’d just leave them behind so you’re our only hope now.”

 

Before Ryuji can respond, the giant bouquet of pink and purple flowers is being pressed into his hands. It’s becoming clear that he doesn’t really have a choice in the matter.

 

“I guess I can do this for you. Although I don’t think I have much of a choice.”

 

“You really don’t,” Souji grins. “But thank you anyways! Sorry about not coming in to bring the flowers to you. If anyone caught a picture of me bringing a man flowers the tabloids would have a fit.”

 

Blonde  bodyguard, now in the driver’s seat, snorts a laugh. “Jus’ a big one. ‘Nd Yosuke would kill you too.”

 

Interestingly enough, Souji pales a little. “Anyways, I hope Kanji didn’t scare you too much. And if you would excuse us, I have a fanmeet to get to. Tell Haru I’m proud of her!”

 

And with a final wave, the car drives off, leaving Ryuji with a armful of flowers. That and the lingering suspicion every single famous person under Kirijo Entertainment is a giant weirdo.

 

Of course Yusuke has decided to leave the battlefield that his room currently is the moment Ryuji comes back with a bouquet of flowers the size of his head.

 

His roommate gasps, entranced. “Ryuji! Why, I’d never take you as the romantic type! Akira will definitely be pleased with these.”

 

Ryuji doesn’t have the heart to tell him what’s really going on. Knowing Yusuke, he’d just think Ryuji was saving face. Instead he just lays the bouquet gently on the kitchen island, heading back to his room to finish getting ready.

  


~~~~~~

  
  


As excited as Akira was to break the monotony of the practice-record-meeting-then even more practice his days have become with Haru’s showcase, absolutely none of that excitement can be found now.

 

They’ve been in a taxi for a good ten minutes, and for all of them Akira has only given one or two word responses to all of Ryuji’s attempts of conversation.

 

Ryuji has seen Akira a lot of different ways, and in a lot of different states of mind, but this is a side he can’t say he’s seen before. He’s seen the idol tired after a long day of comeback preparations, keyed up after that one time he performed at an awards show, and half-asleep on his feet. Even the one time the asshole Goro Akechi and his equally as annoying manager slunk their way down into their practice room to gloat and be bothersome, Akira didn’t look half as annoyed as he does now.

 

Eventually Ryuji can’t take the strange atmosphere anymore.

 

“What’s with you today?”

 

Akira looks taken aback, as if his change in attitude isn’t obvious.  Quickly his features school back into the same pinched expression they’ve been all night, mouth opening to speak. “Nothing’s--”

 

“Don’t lie. Obviously something’s wrong.” Ryuji fixes the other with an unimpressed look, tempered some by the flowers in his lap.

 

Pursing his lips, Akira turns to look out of the window. “...Flowers,” he mutters, after a lengthy pause, a red flush creeping across his cheeks.

 

So caught up in the rare sight of Akira full on blushing (Akira Kurusu doesn’t _blush_ ), it takes a moment for the idol’s words to sink in. “Huh?” Ryuji blinks, sure he’s hearing things. “Flowers?”

 

“You’re bringing Haru-chan flowers, but you’ve never bought me any,” Akira elaborates. He still refuses to turn to look at Ryuji, but the dusting of pink spreading down his neck is visible even in the dim lighting of the cab.

 

Which is so surreal Ryuji can’t help but laugh. Akira whirls on him, indignant. That only makes Ryuji laugh harder because Akira is so-- “Stupid,” the blonde manages through laughter. “You’re so unbelievably stupid. _You_ paid for these flowers. Well, half of ‘em.”

 

A slow sort of dawning horror settles on Akira’s face, which only sends Ryuji further into hysterics. Akira buries his face in his hands, and Ryuji just barely restrains himself from reaching out to feel the heat on the other’s face.

 

“I thought Souji was supposed to bring the flowers,” Akira says, voice muffled through his hands.

 

“He was going to. But I guess somethin’ came up. He also said you couldn’t be trusted to bring ‘em, so... It was left up to me.”

 

Finally Akira pulls himself together, puffing up his cheeks at Ryuji again. “This still doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t brought me flowers.”

 

Ryuji rolls his eyes. Trust Akira to not let this go. “What occasion has there been for me to--” Something dawns on him then. Tilting his head, eyes going wide in amazement Ryuji says, “Are you _jealous_?”

 

And for the second time in the span of five minutes, Akira goes all red. He looks like he’s seriously considering leaping out of the car, traffic be damned.

 

What in the hell does this mean?

“I still want flowers,” Akira insists, ignoring the question. (Ryuji doesn’t know if he should be upset or relieved).

 

“Yes, Your Highness. I heard you the first time. And I keep tellin’ you there hasn’t been any reason for me to buy you any.”

 

“You can buy me some for my showcase!” Akira just pouts harder, trying and succeeding in his quest of looking as pleading as possible.

 

Ryuji wonders just when and how Akira’s puppy dog eyes got so much power over him. “Better idea. I’ll buy you the biggest bouquet possible when you win first once your promotions start. How about that?”

 

To say Akira beams wouldn’t do the wattage of his smile justice. “Don’t you dare forget.”

 

“I won’t,” Ryuji sighs.

 

“You better not.”

 

“I won’t.”

  


~~~~~~

  
  


**(Satan but with Pigtails ▼ 2 people)**

  
  
  


**(11:22 pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** PLS tell me ure still up i have an emergency

**(11:22 pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** for once in a million yrs i actually want your opinion

 

**(11:45 pm) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** really? you couldnt be an old woman for the one night i need your advice

 

**(11:58 pm) Illegally Blonde:** if you don’t want me to sleep early convince akira to stop doing all of these photoshoots! i work hard to make him look that good!

**(12:00 am) Illegally Blonde:** but what do you need help with? are you finally letting me give u a makeover?

 

**(12:00 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** no

**(12:00 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** i dont need one anyways. theres nothin wrong with how i dress

 

**(12:03 am) Illegally Blonde:** seriously? u dress like a jock that doesn’t know he’s gay yet so he still thinks not wearing basketball shorts all the time is the equivalent to having fashion sense

 

**(12:04 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** stereotype much?

 

**(12:08 am) Illegally Blonde:** hey i’m just saying.

**(12:08 am) Illegally Blonde:** anyways! if it’s not fashion advice that you want then what’s up?

 

**(12:10 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** let’s say i have this friend…. they’re single i’m single and they get jealous when they think i bought flowers for a mutual friend. what does that mean?

**(12:12 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** but this is all hypothetical or whatever

 

**(12:13 am) Illegally Blonde:** first of all ik you mean akira so don’t even bother to be subtle

 

**(12:13 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** whatatahthtah

 

**(12:14 am) Illegally Blonde:** secondly that means he’s into you. god i wish you’d just let him top you already

 

**(12:14 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT

 

**(12:16 am) Illegally Blonde:** what? you wanna top him?

**(12:16 am) Illegally Blonde:** hm i guess i could see that

 

**(12:17 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** ann takamaki. pls take this seriously

 

**(12:20 am) Illegally Blonde:** i am! the two of you have been pining after ea other for the longest!!! just confess already!

 

**(12:22 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** we’re just friends!

 

**(12:23 am) Illegally Blonde:** yeah nd the f in ‘friends’ standing for fucking. or better yet ‘wish we were fucking’

 

**(12:27 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** that doesnt even make sense

 

**(12:29 am) Illegally Blonde:** know what you should actually be using your brain power on?

**(12:29 am) Illegally Blonde:** coming up with a cute way of confessing to your future bf

  
  


~~~~~~

  


“Dance with me?” Akira asks earnestly one night. He looks tired, which is to be expected considering it’s two in the morning. They’ve been perfecting choreo for hours now, both of them trying to be perfect for their rapidly approaching deadline.

 

Even Ryuji, who normally prides himself for having enough stamina for two people, is beginning to feel the effects of fatigue setting in. And he at least doesn’t have to be up super early every single morning.

 

“Aren’t you tired?” Ryuji wonders instead. While Akira’s unstoppable desire to work hard is admirable, Ryuji can’t help but to be concerned for his friend’s health. And maybe, just maybe he would like to get home before 4. “We’ve been at this all day. Everyone else has gone home already.”

 

Akira shakes his head, despite all the evidence to the contrary. He’s absolutely drenched in sweat, and can barely keep his eyes open when he’s not moving. “I just want to go through everything one more time, okay? I can’t rest until I’ve done at least one perfect run through.”

 

“You’ve already done at least three perfect runs,” Ryuji protests, though he knows by now his words will fall on deaf ears. A lot of creatives are like that: striving for a perfection only they can see. Akira’s just like Yusuke in that regard. No matter how many times you assure them something’s good, they have to tweak and edit until they satisfy the little gremlin inside their brains.

 

Which would be no problem if they didn’t nearly destroy themselves in the process.

 

By now Ryuji’s had plenty of experience wrangling Yusuke. Give him some food or tell him that one of his favorite weird artsy, European movies is up on Netflix and he’s taking a break from whatever paint induced mood he’s worked himself into.

 

With Akira... Ryuji has no idea. At least not _yet_.

 

Ryuji doesn’t really want to, but he acquiesces with a sigh. “Fine. But this is the last time. Even if I have to find Iwai and get him to drag you out of here I will.”

 

In retrospect it’s a testament to how tired Akira must be when he has no smart ass remark to offer in return.

 

After setting the song to play Ryuji rushes back to the center of the room to get into position next to Akira. They start out strong, the choreography slow and smooth to match the relatively gentle buildup of the track.

 

The beat drops in the song, tempo speeding up and forcing both dancers to move faster and sharper. Akira’s fine until his undoubtedly heavy limbs cause him to stumble on a complicated piece of footwork.

 

Thankfully the idol still has enough of his facilities to catch himself a little bit, but the fall doesn’t look pleasant. “Dude are you okay?” Ryuji asks, concerned. Immediately he rushes over to check Akira for major injuries. It doesn’t help quell his panic either that Akira hasn’t moved an inch from where he landed. Just a tangle of legs and designer workout clothes.

 

“’M fine,” the tangle manages to say.

 

Ryuji toes gently at Akira’s side until the idol rolls over onto his back. “Seriously though, why are you pushin’ yourself this hard? You’re gonna mess around and really hurt yourself.”

 

Mid sentence Ryuji realizes that the inevitable has happened and that he’s seriously becoming his mother. First it’s needling his friends to take better care of himself and next he’ll be wearing ugly orthopedic shoes for the arch support.

 

While Ryuji has a minor mental breakdown, Akira stares up at the ceiling deep in thought. “I’m not pushing myself too hard,” he frowns hard when Ryuji scoffs at him. “I’m not. This is just how much work you have to put in to be an idol in such a big company. Anything short of perfect won’t cut it.”

 

“There’s a difference between giving your all and bein’ stupid.” Akira opens his mouth to say something but Ryuji cuts him off. “And before you even ask, yes, you’re being stupid. You don’t have to keep practicing day in and day out without breaks. No one here thinks you aren’t giving it everything you got.”

 

Stiffly, Akira pulls himself so that he’s sitting up, shoulders slouching and eyes downcast. A visible struggle for the right words flash across his face before he finally sighs deeply, “I guess I’m just worried? About the comeback. And if it’ll be good enough.”

 

Ryuji is trying his best to be collected and motivational, but a pang of anxiety goes through him. “Is it the choreo you’re worried about? Because we still have plenty of time to change anything you don’t like--”

 

The blonde’s nervous rambling is cut off when a warm hand grabs his own. “That’s not it at all!” Akira protests, looking as panicked as Ryuji feels. “Your choreography is good. Perfect even. And I don’t want to mess that up with any of my mistakes! Everyone is working so hard and putting in their all. I just...I just don’t want to be the one to waste all of that.”

 

Whatever anxiety Ryuji feels quickly turns into indignation. How could Akira ever truly believe he wasn’t doing _enough_? Him? One of the hardest working people Ryuji has ever met?

 

Akira has balanced two variety show tapings, studio time twice a week that last nearly all day, dance practice three times a week for just as long, at least one photoshoot every other week, and then fanmeets and other company sponsored events. And he rarely ever shows signs of fatigue, nor does he receive anything less than high praise for his efforts.

 

Before Ryuji can list all one million and six reasons why Akira shouldn’t be anything _but_ proud of himself, the idol begins speaking again, expression so vulnerable Ryuji instinctively knows to quiet down and let the other speak.

 

“Honestly getting kicked off of _No Shortcomings_ really messed with my confidence. It’s kinda embarrassing… It was two years ago, but I still can’t shake the feeling that if l couldn’t get enough votes then, there’s no way I’ll get enough support now. I mean, how can I compete? Soloists rarely ever get as popular as groups do. My worst nightmare is to end up a giant flop.”

 

Having sat down as Akira talked so that they could be eye to eye, it’s easy for Ryuji to reach out and hold Akira’s face gently in his hands. He hesitates for only a moment--surely if Akira is comfortable enough to touch Ryuji nearly 24/7, he can do this.

 

“Listen,” Ryuji starts, brows furrowing in his seriousness. “You of all people don’t have to worry about being a flop, or people not seein’ all the work you put in. Even Makoto praises your work ethic, and she was born with a fucking day planner in her hands.”

 

The amused snort Akira lets out is encouraging, but he still looks posed to argue.

 

Not that Ryuji gives him a chance to interject. “I’m not done. Not only are you a hard worker, but people love you. So what if you didn’t make it to the final thirteen? That show was rigged to all hell. They knew that if you did debut with a group, you’d just outshine everyone else.”

 

Akira ducks his head shyly, in an attempt to hide from Ryuji’s painfully earnest expression. Still, Ryuji can feel the warmth from Akira’s blush spreading to his hands. How _cute._

 

“That’s...not true,” Akira mumbles. In retaliation to the other’s aggressive humility, Ryuji just squishes his cheeks harder.

 

“Yes it _is_. Stop being so stubborn! You not making it to the final thirteen wasn’t a failure for you. The universe or whatever just had other plans for you. Long as you keep givin’ it your all everything’ll work out.” Akira’s blush must be contagious because Ryuji can feel his own face getting hot. It might also have something to do with the way Akira’s now looking at him: eyes shining with gratitude and affection. “Plus I’m here with you. So it’s all gonna work out.”

 

Now done with his speech, Ryuji removes his hands from Akira’s face. His plan is to retreat to a friendly distance, thwarted by a sudden hug that sends him to the ground.  

 

“Thank you,” Akira says, arms wrapped tight around the blonde’s neck. Ryuji’s _you’re welcome_ comes out a bit garbled. Not only has the wind been knocked out of him, but he’s practically got a mouthful of wild black hair and Akira’s warm lips pressed against his neck.

 

Garbled or not, his point gets across. Ryuji knows this because Akira sits up a bit so that he can stare down into Ryuji’s eyes. He’s smiling now, previous fatigue long gone.

 

On instinct Ryuji holds Akira gently with a tentative hand on the small of his back. To keep him from falling and nothing more, Ryuji tells himself.

 

“I’m really glad you downloaded _Prtnr_ ,” Akira says, staring at Ryuji like he’s something special. “To think it’s because of that we’ve gotten so close.”

 

Considering that if Akira moved about an inch lower, they’d be pressed together hip to hip, close is an understatement. Ryuji forces himself to stop thinking about that. Instead he channels his focus into smiling back. “In that case you should thank Ann for stealing my phone and installing it for laughs.”

 

“I might have to do just that. She likes sweets, right? Might send her a cake or two.” Akira sounds more like he’s speaking to himself rather than Ryuji. His gaze has drifted down from Ryuji’s eyes to his lips.

 

Which can’t mean what Ryuji thinks it means. Maybe this is all a hallucination brought on by exhaustion. Akira’s eyes flick back up just as the doors to the studio open.

 

Ryuji tilts his head back to get an upside down glimpse of the doorway. Thankfully Makoto’s displeased expression is clear to understand regardless of the direction its viewed.

 

“I think we’re in trouble.”

 

Akira laughs, not moving from where he’s sprawled all over Ryuji, “Oh, we definitely are.”

  
  


~~~~~~

  


**(★boy ▼ 2 people)**

  
  


**(8:09 am) Akira the Cutie King** ✿♥‿♥✿ **:** you haven’t left for the studio yet, right?

 

**(8:21 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** uhhh no?

 

**(8:25 am) Akira the Cutie King** ✿♥‿♥✿ **:** good! practice is being pushed back for today! we’re meeting at 11 instead

**(8:26 am) Akira the Cutie King** ✿♥‿♥✿ **:** i’m getting a new look for the comeback today!!!!!!!   (*ﾟ∀ﾟ*) i bet you’re gonna fall in love with me all over again

 

**(8:29 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** i havent fallen for you the first time

 

**(8:33 am) Akira the Cutie King** ✿♥‿♥✿ **:** i dont believe that~~~

 

**(8:36 am) Top** **_Ryu_ ** **man:** i hope your stylist leaves the bleach in too long so your hair falls out

 

**(8:37 am) Akira the Cutie King** ✿♥‿♥✿ **:** jokes on you i’d be hot bald!

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


Ryuji’s just about to doze off when a familiar voice yells “Behold my latest masterpiece!” He jerks awake, involuntarily knocking the back of his head against a mirror .

 

Once his vision clears he sees Ann standing triumphant, arms spread wide as Akira steps in behind her looking better than ever. Which isn’t an understatement. His hair has been cut short in the back in a near undercut and dyed a dark, midnight blue. It makes the multitude of piercings on both ears more visible, and gives him a mature, sexy edge.

 

Honestly, Ryuji hadn’t thought anything about Akira getting a new look or anything. He figured one haircut couldn’t be life-changing. Tturns out when Ann is behind the styling a haircut could be life changing and _then_ some.  

 

Souji and a petite woman Ryuji’s never seen before trails in as well. The former’s eyes light up when he catches sight of Akira, immediately bounding over to sweep him in a hug and playing with his freshly dyed hair.

 

The sight of Souji cooing over Akira makes Ryuji’s stomach twist in a way that is extremely unpleasant. He can’t quite but his finger on what he’s feeling, and he doesn’t really want to either.

 

“What’s with that face?” Ann asks suddenly, leaning over to block Ryuji’s field of vision so that all he can see is curly blonde hair. “You constipated?”

 

“Gross,” Ryuji hisses instinctively. Grinning, Ann follows his gaze to where Souji is still standing too close and getting too friendly with Akira. In an instant Ann comes to the worst possible conclusion.

 

Coyly, she pokes Ryuji’s shin with the toe of one of her disgustingly gaudy Gucci boots, “You’re jealouuussss,” she sing-songs, blue eyes sparkling and full of mirth.

 

Ryuji squints at her. Him? Jealous? He has absolutely nothing to be jealous over. Akira is his _friend_ , and as his _friend_ he has ever right to hug and interact with his other, equally as platonic friends.

 

Before his eyes, Souji trails a--perhaps _too_ friendly--hand down Akira’s bicep, and that same gut twisting sensation from before is back with a vengeance. It must show on his face (or maybe Ann really has hacked into his brain) because she smiles so wide it looks like it hurts.

 

He doesn’t know why she looks so smug. He is _not_ jealous.

 

Ryuji is, however, happy as all fuck when Akira finally slips away from Souji and his grabby hands of doom to come over to the two of them. He smiles down at Ryuji, bright lights of the room making his newly blue dyed hair appear soft and glossy.

 

“Oh, perfect timing,” Ann says, “I was just asking Ryuji here what he thinks about your new look.”

 

“Really?”

 

Ann shoots Ryuji a quick, subtle look which he interprets to mean _Compliment him, you fuck_. Not that he needs to be goaded into complimenting Akira. He is very capable of telling his very hot friend how hot he is. It’s just that in this moment all Ryuji wants is for everyone that he isn’t getting paid to work with to get the fuck out of the room.

 

“You do look good,” Ryuji praises with a genuine smile. He then turns to Ann, “Now can you please leave? We have work to do.”

 

“Work? More like flirting,” with a huff, Ann turns on her heels to begin her march out back to whence she came. Thankfully, she takes Souji with her, which is a favor big enough to convince Ryuji to not steal all the candy on her desk again for that parting shot.

 

Now that the room is clear save for the two of them, Ryuji can take deep, calming breaths. It helps twice as much when he doesn’t look at Akira and his ever increasing hotness.

 

Ryuji leaves Akira to change and go through the necessary stretching he needs to do, going through a mental list of everything they need to do. They’re got about two weeks left of practice before music video shooting and then music show promotions--both of which Ryuji has been graciously invited to be a part of.

 

(This’ll be the second time Ryuji’ll be on camera since that shitty, low budget commercial Hifumi got him hired to three months after they starting working together. Production value was dismal at best, but the pay was decent enough.)

 

“There’s one part I think I need help with,” Akira says as he stands up to go tinker with the stereo.

 

Blinking out of his thoughts, Ryuji sends a confused look to the back of Akira’s head. “Last time I checked you had all of the choreography down. What could you possibly need help with?”

 

The smile Akira sends over his shoulder is more than just a little sly, but if it’s because of Ryuji’s unwavering faith in him or because he’s up to something there’s no way to know.

 

“This is about refinement not memorization.”

 

“Oh really?”

 

“Yes really.” The idol pulls up the track they’ve been working on, skipping through the beginning to get to the specific part he means. Finally Akira seems satisfied, putting his phone down to saunter over to Ryuji. “So. You know the part in the second verse when I’m supposed to grab the back of the dancer’s neck?”

 

He does an unneeded demonstration, slightly chilly hand curling around the back of Ryuji’s neck, pulling them closer together. “This is the killing part, right? Let me practice on you. I wanna get my expression of immaculate seduction perfect.”

 

“Can’t you just practice with the actual dancer?”

 

Akira pouts, and at this distance it’s maybe four times as fatal as it usually is. “Just shut up and let me seduce you.”

 

“It’ll cost you,” Ryuji quips.

 

“I’ll pay,” Akira says just as readily, and paired with his new haircut, he really does look the part of the ultimate tempter. God, if Ryuji were to become anymore gay for this guy he might just break down and beg to fuck him.

 

Ryuji’s more than happy when Akira pulls away to grab the stereo remote so that he can practice his “seduction”, though his relief is incredibly short lived. Akira hits play, dropping the remote, before pulling the other closer again.

 

His performance mode must be on, because this time when Akira smoothly yanks Ryuji closer with a firm, yet gentle hold on his neck, his expression is all sexy charm and fierce eyes. By now Ryuji has witnessed and gone through at least three hundred runs of the song, which means even in the presence of such a look he has enough sense to actually do what he’s supposed to do: place his right hand on Akira’s waist and keep in step as he’s led into a turn.

 

Strictly speaking, they’re pressed together closer than they need to be. And the way Akira rolls his hips against Ryuji’s would most definitely be banned from live broadcast.

 

There’s a pounding in Ryuji’s ears, and he honestly can’t tell if it’s from the music or the pounding in his heart. He’s saved from his heart palpitations being discovered when he’s forced by the choreography to turn in Akira’s hold so that the idol’s front is to Ryuji’s back.

 

He’s not saved from the searing heat of Akira’s hands on his hips. Minor victories though.  

 

“Well?” Akira inquires, more than just a touch smug. “Ryuji-kun, what did you think? Did I seduce you?”

 

By the grace of some higher power Ryuji manages to dredge up enough self-control to stop himself from shuddering at their proximity like the touch starved gay he sometimes is. Akira probably expects him to get all flustered and not answer the question. But Ryuji Sakamoto is not afraid to admit that Akira is hot. At least right now he isn’t.

 

Calmly, Ryuji locks eyes with Akira through a mirror across the room. “You did. You always do.”

 

“And I’m even sexier now, huh? With my new look?” Akira says, shameless as always.

 

Normally this is where Ryuji would get all self-conscious and refuse to answer the question in fear of giving tangible proof of his totally not platonic attraction for his friend. Now though, with the dregs of what is looking more and more like jealousy swirling around in his stomach, Ryuji refuses to back down. “You are,” he admits in all seriousness.

 

Akira doesn’t speak, but the brief tightening of his hand on Ryuji’s side says more than enough.

  
  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  


Living with Yusuke has a lot of upsides. He always pays his part of the rent on time, he gives good--albeit sometimes cryptic--advice, for the most part he’s agreeable, and he and Ryuji hardly ever fight. But what Ryuji has become to cherish the most about his roommate lately is the naturally calm aura of his room.

 

Ryuji’s currently sitting in Yusuke’s bed, half spacing out as the latter works on a painting with his usual brand of quiet intensity. The room is silent save for the swish of brushes on canvas and the swirl of water as he watches a brush.

 

The calming atmosphere is something Ryuji needs more of now that he and Akira have reached some kind of weird purgatory-esque sort of relationship. They flirt a bit too much to be just friends, but there’s been a distinct lack of discussion about _Feelings_ that would quantify boyfriends, lovers, mutual crushes, etc.

 

Hell, Ryuji doesn’t even know if Akira likes him like that. For all he knows the idol could just be the type to flirt incessantly with close friends. Those people exist surely.

 

They’re literally worlds apart. There’s no way in hell Akira would--could--overlook all of the more handsome, more famous, and more affluent men (or women) he’s bumped elbows with to fall for _Ryuji._ The idea would better suit a cheesy drama rather than reality.

 

Not to mention Ryuji hasn’t quite parsed the depths of his own feelings. He could just be reacting intensely to the first attractive and available man he’s gotten close too. Maybe _he’s_ the type of person to flirt incessantly with close friends. Ann and Yusuke excluded for reasons.

 

“Do you think Akira likes me?”

The question is out of his mouth before he can really think about it. To Ryuji’s immense surprise, Yusuke doesn’t just ignore him like he thought he would. Instead he pauses, paintbrush suspended in midair to look at Ryuji questioningly.

 

“Of course he does,” he says with no hesitation.

 

Ryuji sputters, caught off guard. “No, I mean. Does he, y’know, like me like _that_?”

 

“I fail to see how the intonation changes things,” Yusuke’s expression remains blank as if he’s stating well-known facts. “It’s quite clear to everyone that the two of you have feelings for each other.”

 

“Yeah, it’s called friendship.”

 

Yusuke fixes him with a look so unimpressed Ann would be proud. “You should try being more honest with your feelings, I hear that’s good for you.”

 

In response Ryuji makes a disgusted face, which makes Yusuke laugh.

 

His face is softer when he regards the blonde now, “It’s okay. Sometimes we as humans can be afraid of the depths of our own emotions. There’s nothing wrong with having romantic feelings for Akira-kun.”

 

“Sure, there’s nothing _wrong_ with it,” Ryuji grumbles, looking for patterns in the paint splatter on the floor (which pretty much guarantees they won’t be getting their security deposit back for the apartment). “But there’s no way he feels anything for me. I mean, he’s _famous_ , why would he want a relationship with me?”

 

And in the end of the day, that’s the root of Ryuji’s insecurity. As much as he likes Akira and as much as he likes _likes_ him, the idea of them having a real romantic relationships feels more like a far-fetched fantasy than an option.

 

For a long moment Yusuke doesn’t say anything. He regards his painting thoughtfully, as if the wash of dark grays and fluorescent blues knows the right words to say. “I don’t think you should sell yourself short. People falling in love across class is not something unheard of. Consider your story to be something like a modern day Cinderella.”

 

Ryuji frowns. Not that he has anything against that particular fairy tale, but that would make Ann his fairy godmother, and he isn’t keen on giving her that much credit. There’s also the whole toe chopping off thing...

 

“Uhh, the modern day version doesn’t involve cutting off my toes, right?” Ryuji glances down at his feet and wiggles his toes. He likes having all ten toes.

 

“Not at all. Unless Akira-kun is into that.”

 

“Gross! You’ve really been hanging out with Ann too much!”

 

Yusuke only shrugs, pleased with his joke. “I’m only trying to be supportive. But in all seriousness, you have nothing to worry about. Akira-kun cares for you.”

 

“I might not be the only one,” Ryuji grumbles. “There’s this other idol in the company that’s always hanging around now.”

 

“Every good love story requires a rival.”

 

“We are _not_ rivals.” Viewing Souji, tall, rich, and chisel-featured Souji, as a rival feels incredibly counterproductive to Ryuji’s self-esteem. Besides, the older idol has a long term boyfriend.

 

An unpleasant thought hits him: what if Souji and Yosuke are looking to start their own polyamorous thing with Akira as the first convert? Immediately he dismisses the idea. Ryuji’s just going a bit crazy. It’s just a side effect of all of the practicing he’s been doing. Yeah, that.

 

Ryuji gets about four minutes of peace when his phone rings with a picture update of Akira at some fashion designer’s event he and a few other equally famous people were invited to.  

 

Akira’s dressed all serious, hair slicked back and everything, a stark contrast to the silly way he’s posing for the picture. Though Ryuji’s fond smile melts faster than ice in summer when another message pops up, pushing the first one away.

 

In this one Akira’s not alone; Souji’s next to him, hand way too comfortable on the shorter’s waist for Ryuji’s liking.

 

On second thought, Ryuji really might have a rival.

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  
  


If asked, say, two months earlier Ryuji would’ve thought a high-end party full of celebs and industry giants would be as fun as it would be nerve-wracking. Hell, if you had asked if a mere two _days_ ago that would’ve been his answer.

 

Now that he’s actually attending a high-end party, Ryuji can safely say this is the least fun he’s had at a party with alcohol present. He had been excited when Akira had extended the offer to join him at a wrap party for a fellow idol now turned actress.

 

Excited both because it could kinda be considered a date, and because Akira had mentioned that he didn’t want to stuck at a party with only Yosuke and Souji. Ryuji had taken that as a secret cry for protection against poly recruitment.

 

In hindsight that was probably just paranoia. They went from seeing Souji sparingly around the company building to seeing him every single time they had practice. After the first few times it became less obvious that the visits weren’t just coincidences, and whenever Ryuji edged around the topic, Akira didn’t seem to see anything unusual about them.

 

So here Ryuji is left stranded on a plush couch in the living room of the house party they’re at. Akira had tried to stick with him, but every five seconds another person was calling him over to introduce him to this person or that person. To Akira’s credit, he introduced Ryuji to each and every new person they encountered, which made Ryuji feel marginally less shitty when most of them visibly lost interest in him once it was made known that he was a nobody in comparison to everyone else there.

 

Eventually Ryuji grew too frazzled to keep his friendly and unbothered charade going, and left “in search of alcohol” when in reality all he wanted to be by himself. He’d prefer being with Akira--the whole reason he’s here in the first place--but the idol looked way too happy networking.

 

The party so far has done nothing but drive home the fact that Akira is too far out of Ryuji’s reach.

 

And to top it all off, the kitchen is full of expensive wines that taste like cough syrup so the option of getting drunk enough to not care is also out of the window. It’s safe to say that he’s absolutely miserable.

 

He’s just waiting it out until it’s late enough to warrant going the fuck home. Maybe he should’ve convinced Ann to come with him, instead of enjoying a night in with Makoto.

 

Just then Akira materializes out of the crowd of people mingling about, appearing too quickly for Ryuji to successfully set his features into something that doesn’t scream _I want to go home as soon as possible._

 

The guilt is immediate when Akira looks considered, coming to sit next to him. “You don’t look so good. Are you drunk?”

 

“No,” Ryuji makes a face at the untouched glass of Merlot on the coffee table in front of them. “This wine tastes like crap.”

 

Akira presses on. “Are you sick?” He reaches out to feel Ryuji’s forehead. On any other occasion Ryuji would appreciate the gesture, but right now he’s feeling cranky and restless.

 

“I’m not sick,” he says, leaning back so Akira’s hand slips off him. He hopes that the other will give up on his investigation, but Akira is determined to help.

 

“Then what’s wrong? Did something happen? Wanna talk about it?”

 

“Not really.”

 

As the seconds of the awkward silence between them tick on, Ryuji can feel a suffocating mix of anxiety and guilt welling up in him. He wants Akira to let this go and let him pretend that everything’s okay.

 

What _okay_ even is for them, he doesn’t know anymore.

 

But of course, Akira’s stubborn. When it comes to figuring out what Ryuji’s thinking, he’s an unrelenting force. “Are you...are you mad at me by any chance? I didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long. I mean, I really wanted you to come...”

 

“It’s hard to tell,” Ryuji regrets the biting words as soon as they leave his mouth. It feels like he’s back in high school, vocalizing his anger and frustration too quickly and too impulsively. “Considering how you’ve been ignoring me for literally anyone else.”

 

Akira’s concerns shifts to shock and then irritation. A part of Ryuji notes that this might be their first real fight. It makes him feel even shittier. “ I haven’t been _ignoring_ you,  I’ve been networking. I don’t like it--I have to do this. Seriously, is _that_ what you’re mad about?”

 

“I am not mad,” Ryuji protests, sharp tone saying the exact opposite. On the other side of the couch, Akira raises a disbelieving eyebrow. “Look. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

 

“Why not? If you have a problem just say something.”

 

“Do you really think this is the best place to do that?”

 

“Oh, stop making excuses,” Akira practically hisses, body language tense and unyielding. “We can’t just ignore this.”

 

Something about the idol’s insistence just makes Ryuji angrier. Who is he to tell him what he can and cannot ignore? He’s been doing fine this whole time ignoring what he wants when he wants. And if Ryuji wants to pretend that he isn’t in serious like with his friend and being driven up the wall about it, then so be it.

 

“There’s no _we_ because this doesn’t concern you in the first place--”

 

He’s interrupted by none other than Souji, who’s standing a few feet away looking between the two of them with open trepidation. Ryuji’s loathe to admit that he looks as affluent and untouchable as ever. “Uh...do you two need to go somewhere and talk this out?”

 

Before Akira can take the older idol up on that offer (like he probably wants to), Ryuji’s sliding off the couch. “No thanks. Could you show me to the bathroom though?”

 

Akira’s quick to stand up with him. “I’ll show you the way.” It’s less than ideal, but at least in the bathroom he can be alone. The entire walk through the expansive living room and attached parlor of sorts is just as painful as their talk on the couch had been. Ryuji preoccupies himself with the warm and homey decorations of the apartment. He can only imagine how much rent counts for a high end place like this.

 

Eventually Akira leads him into an en suite bathroom in the master bedroom. By the grace of someone, there’s no one making out or throwing up in there. Ryuji slips past the other, ready to text Ann for tips on how the fuck to escape this party without interacting with Akira again.

 

Turns out the universe has other plans. The door closes with a startling slam the second they step into the bedroom. Ryuji would be pressed to pass it off as a trick of the air pressure or maybe even a ghost if it weren’t for the sound of furniture moving right outside the door.

 

Warily Ryuji tries the door, unsurprised but horrified when the door doesn’t budge.

 

“Sorry Sakamoto-kun, Akira-kun!” Yosuke’s voice sounds from the other side. “I didn’t want to do this, but you’ll thank me later once the two of you have talked everything out!”

 

No. Fucking. Way.

 

Ryuji, suddenly incredibly exhausted, gives up on life entirely, opting instead to make himself comfortable on the floor while Akira bangs on the door and pleads for Yosuke to stop doing the utterly stupid thing he’s doing.

 

He abandons that after a few minutes of no results, sitting down on the floor as well. Neither one of them speak. They just sit and individually lament all the life choices that led them to being locked in a room together fighting, but not quite fighting.

 

First, Ryuji tries to entertain himself with mindless games on his phone, but it’s impossible to get into the right state of mind when he’s hyper aware of every small movement Akira is making an arms-length away. For the most part Akira just sits, arms crossed, and stewing in his palpable annoyance.

 

(The angry set of his brow is kinda sexy, something Ryuji is vaguely horrified to notice).

 

Texting Ann for advice is also a bust. All she does is tell him to grow the fuck up and talk about how he feels. Ryuji doesn’t want sensible advice. He wants to be _commiserated_.

 

God knows how long they sit there in separated silence until Akira sighs loudly. “Ryuji. Can we just please talk about what the hell is going on? I really don’t want us to be like this.”

 

The sincere pleading instantly makes the bottom drop out of Ryuji’s anger, leaving him tired and empty. “What do you want me to say?” he mumbles, picking at the skin around his nails nervously. He’s battling the urge to bite his nails.

 

Akira sighs again, “I don’t know...just anything? I want to understand what you’re feeling. And I’m pretty sure Souji’s behind locking us in here. And knowing him, he won’t let us out until we come to some kind of...solution”

 

That annoyance from before bubbles up in Ryuji yet again. He’s not annoyed at Akira per se, he just hates this relationship purgatory they’ve ended up in. “What are we?” Ryuji demands suddenly.

 

A pause. “We’re friends,” Akira states.

 

“Just friends?” Ryuji manages to gain the courage to look Akira in the eyes. What he’s really asking finally sinks in and Akira’s face becomes decidedly blank.

 

“No,” he says slowly, as if Ryuji is a wild animal that needs to be delicately handled. “Not _just_ friends. We’re more than that, I think. At least I want us to be. It’s kinda hard when you never give me any clear signs.”

 

The accusation gives Ryuji pause. “Of course I’ve been giving you clear signs! Do you know how terrifying it is to have feelings for someone so far out of your league?” Words are tumbling out of Ryuji before he can even think about them. Everything’s that he’s been holding back these past few weeks and months comes out in a mighty deluge of emotion. “I mean look at you! Your whole outfit has been endorsed by fucking Chanel! And we wouldn’t have even met if it wasn’t for some stupid fuckin’ dating app! I knew from the start it would be impossible to expect us to be anything more than friends, and I would’ve been fine pretending I didn’t like you more than just that. But you had to go and make everything complicated. Are you happy now?”

 

Before the other can respond, Ryuji’s scrambling to his feet to bang on the door himself. “I don’t know who’s room this is,” he says, loud enough to be heard through the other side. He has no idea if Yosuke or another accomplice of his is keeping watch, but it’s worth a try. “But if you don’t let me out I’m gonna dump all of this expensive looking makeup down the toilet.”

 

There’s a terrified squawk and then the door is opening so fast it might have broken the sound barrier. Ryuji doesn’t waste a second, hightailing it out of the apartment. He’ll call for a taxi and drown his sorrows in junk food.

 

Too impatient to wait for an elevator down to the ground floor, Ryuji takes the stairs. He practically sprints down them, and thanks to the excursion the chilly nighttime air is a godsend on his overheated skin. If only it were that easy to get rid of his racing thoughts. God, he really shouldn’t have come to this party.

 

In the span of thirty minutes, everything has changed. Instead of holding on their precarious status quo limboing between friends and boyfriends, Ryuji has now condemned them both to an uncomfortable next few days if not weeks.

 

Ryuji sits on the edge of one of the long, fancy concrete planters decorating the entrance of the apartment as he waits for his cab. He stares up at the sky, trying to locate all of the stars his mother taught him, though most are impossible to spot through Tokyo’s light pollution.

 

But he’ll take all he can get.

 

“Do you seriously think it’d be impossible for me to like you back?”

 

The sudden question makes Ryuji jump. Heart thudding, he turns to find Akira standing in the light of the street lamp, dark blue hair blending into the night sky. His features are painted serene. Totally at odds with how Ryuji feels. He hadn’t actually expected Akira to come out here after him. Surely a party full of famous people are more important than one nobody that has a crush on him.

 

“What?”

 

Tentatively, Akira takes a seat next to him, “Back there you said you think I’m out of your league. Do you really believe that?”

 

“Well... _yeah_ ,” Ryuji frowns, confused by the other’s confusion. In what world do idols actually shack up with the extras? “Celebrities don’t date real people. Not for long. Even if you did there’s nothing special about me in the first place.”

 

Akira turns to look at Ryuji then, scowling a bit at Ryuji putting himself down. “That’s not true.”

 

The token protest doesn’t mean much to Ryuji, but before he can express that in words Akira speaking again.

 

“I knew who you were before, y’know. You said we wouldn’t have met if it weren’t for _Prtnr_ but that isn’t true. I heard of you way before that.”

 

“From Ann?” Ryuji asks

 

“Well, yeah. She talked about you a lot, but even before that. Uh...you were in a competition once?”

 

Competition? Ryuji hasn’t ever-- Oh. That competition. Ryuji’s first and only dance competition he’s ever participated in. One that he wouldn’t have even done in the first place if it weren’t for Yusuke missing the deadline to apply as a solo dancer.

 

But the prize money as a duo wasn’t anything Ryuji could stick his nose up at with a healthy conscience. They made third, which was nice. And even nicer was that Ryuji never had to go through the harrowing experience of a professional dance competition ever again. Too much work. Too many snobs.

 

That doesn’t explain _how_ Akira saw him there in the first place. Noting the thoughtful expression on Ryuji’s face he smiles weakly, “I went to watch that competition. I was still a trainee then, and a friend of mine was competing.”

 

“Were they any good?”

 

“She won first,” Akira grins.

 

Ryuji nods, working up the courage to ask more meaningful questions. “So, is this the part when you admit that you fell with me after watching me dance?”

 

“It isn’t. I didn’t fall in love with you...at least not _then_ .” Akira admits the second part quietly. “I was just interested I guess? You and Yusuke looked so happy up there, and I envied that. I looked the both of you up after that. I had intended on trying to pull some strings and hire you as my choreographer before now, but as a rookie idol I didn’t have the power to influence who we hired yet. Imagine my surprise when I saw you on _Prtnr_! So, no, you’re not just some random hot guy to me. You’re an incredibly talented, very special, hot guy.”

 

One parts embarrassed and two parts startled, Ryuji coughs with laughter. The pieces are beginning to fall together. This explains Akira’s eagerness to get to know him in the first place. This whole time Ryuji was assuming the worst, in an effort to protect himself from any possible vulnerability.

 

But if there’s any moment where it’s worth being vulnerable for it’s this one, and if there’s any person worth trying to be vulnerable for it’s Akira.

 

With that in mind, Ryuji takes hold of Akira’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckle like Akira always does when they hold hands. “Hypothetically speaking. If I told you I liked you what would do?”

 

Akira startles when his hand his grabbed, even as his face shows the beginning of a smile. “I would tell you that I’ve liked you back for months now, and it’s about time you realized that.”

 

“And if I told you I wanted to be your boyfriend?” Ryuji presses on, emboldened.

 

“I’d...tell you that I really want that too,” Akira’s practically whispering now. It might have something to do with how close they’re sitting now, and leaning even further. “But I’d also warn you. Because I can’t publicly date so I couldn’t announce that I’m your boyfriend on account of the fans. And we couldn’t go out in most public places unless I wore a disguise and--”

 

“Can I kiss you?”

 

Immediately Akira stops talking to look up at Ryuji with wide eyes. The inquisitive noise he makes in response is adorably kittenish. “Huh?”

 

“You’re goin’ on and on about stuff that won’t change how I feel so I think we should just skip to the kissing. If you’re down with that.”

 

“Oh,” Akira takes in Ryuji’s smirk before nodding. “Yeah. Let’s do that.” And then Akira’s closing the inch-wide gap between them, molding their lips together finally.

 

_Finally_.

 

Instinctively they tilt their heads, slotting together in a way that’s so natural it almost makes Ryuji want to cry. Akira’s arms wrap around his neck as the kiss deepens, the idol trying his best to clamber into Ryuji’s lap as best as he can. The warmth of Akira’s body is just as addictive as his mouth.

 

Both of which has Ryuji pulling back with a gasp as he catches his breath. Akira tries to follow him when he does, eager for more. “We’re in public,” Ryuji reminds him, holding Akira around the hips.

 

“Don’t care.”

 

“You’re really bad at this private dating thing. Boyfriend.” The tacked on label makes them both smile at each other, moonstruck.

 

“Well, excuse me if I’ve been waiting forever to kiss you,” Akira pouts, receiving another kiss or three for his cuteness. “But I should go back inside before someone comes looking for me. You coming in?”

 

“Nah.” On cue the headlights of the cab come rounding the corner and coming towards them. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

More than just a touch reluctantly, Akira pulls back to put some space between them, but he continues to hold on to Ryuji’s hand. “Okay. I’ll look forward to it....boyfriend.”

 

And with one last quick kiss on Ryuji’s lips, Akira turns to rush back towards the apartment, a clear pep in his step. Ryuji watches him go until the cab driver honks at him.

  
  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


“OH MY GOD! CONGRATULATIONS!” Ann yells, barging through their front door to tackle Ryuji with a hug. “I can’t believe you actually did it! You have a boyfriend! After a million years you’re finally dating again!”

 

“It has not been a million years,” but Ryuji still accepts Ann’s rarely offered physical affection anyways.

 

“Who cares about technicalities!” She lets him go in favor of dancing into the living room. “Finally! I’m free! I don’t have to deal with the both of you pining after each other!”

 

Ann throws herself on the floor to do paper angels in the sea of rejected thumbnail sketches from Yusuke and his never-ending creative process. The only reason Ryuji isn’t also rolling around on the floor in joy is because he spent all of last night doing exactly that.

 

Their bastard of a neighbor coming over to complain about him jumping from couch to couch and doing cartwheels in the hallway couldn’t even put a dent in Ryuji’s excitement. Akira is his _boyfriend_! His actual, real life boyfriend.

 

Hair a mess, Ann sits up on her elbows with a crooked grin, “When you get married be sure to thank me, because--”

 

“Because if it weren’t for you we wouldn’t be together. Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Ryuji almost counters that even without Ann’s initial meddling, Akira would’ve probably would a way to bulldoze into his life, but knowing them, they’d have to rely on Ann and her straightforward nature regardless. “But thank you. For everything.”

 

The response he receives is just more excited screaming and hugging. Mid-hug Ann remembers something, goings from ecstatic to pensive in under a second.

 

“Please don’t mess this up, though.”

 

Ryuji narrows his eyes at her.

 

“Just hear me out. Please. I had to stop Makoto from storming up here to give you her lecture so you should be grateful I’m the one saying this.”

 

“She’s turning more into a momcopter with each passing day.”

 

Miraculously, Ann doesn’t punch him, just fixes him with a look. Ryuji never knows if he finds Ann’s total loyalty towards her girlfriend (no matter if Makoto is in the wrong in the first place) endearing or aggravating. Maybe he’d think it was cute if he weren’t the one constantly bearing the brunt of Makoto’s suspicions.

 

Still Ryuji supposes as Akira’s manager, he opinion matters at least a little bit.

 

“She just wants you to be careful. And to take this seriously,” Ann says, twirling a ponytail around her finger. It’s easy to tell that she’s being very gentle with the paraphrasing. “Apparently idols that have dating scandals before they’ve had three years of work under their belt aren’t always able to recover.”

 

“I am taking this seriously.”

 

“I know,” and Ryuji can tell by the look in her eyes that she means it. “If anything you’re more likely to get your heartbroken.”

 

“Are you even _trying_ to be motivational right now?”

 

Ann laughs, “I’m just being honest!”

 

“You suck.”

 

“Yeah, I do,” she says gravely. Before Ryuji can ask what’s with the sudden humility, she adds “I suck Makoto’s strap-on at least twice a week.”

 

Unable to help himself, Ryuji begins picking up balled up pieces of sketch paper, throwing them at Ann. “Get out of my apartment!” he yells over Ann’s laughter as all of the projectiles bounce harmlessly off her.

 

Still happy as ever, Ann collects her things (only _after_ throwing wads of paper back at Ryuji). She pauses at the door to give Ryuji one last sunny smile. “For the record though, I think you and Akira are in it for the long haul. You’re good for each other.”

 

And with that, she flounces out of the door, off to harass someone else. Ryuji stands there in the living room in shock for a long time. For Ann to give him real, un-insult laden words of encouragement might be a miracle.

  
  


~~~~~~

  


“Oh! That’s perfect! Hold that pose for me!”

 

Ryuji slinks onto the set of Akira’s official album photoshoot just as the cameras flash repeatedly. Even from halfway across the room the camera flash is building, but in the mark of a true professional Akira doesn’t blink at all.

 

They’ve seem to have gone all out for the set and costume design for the album this time. The set has been made to look like some sort of new age vampire lair, mixing that high end sensuality with touches of gothic architecture. At the moment Akira’s perched on top of a tower constructed out of televisions, chin in hand and looking like the king of incubi himself.

 

(Akira had explained to him what all the TVs and everything meant, but the blonde was really just staring at Akira’s kiss-swollen lips the whole time. They had managed to meet up for a secluded half hour, and put the first fifteen minutes to use.)

 

As Ryuji makes his way further into the shooting space, as the director enthusiastically yells out instructions. Half of them don’t make much sense: “give the camera the bwah!” and “manifest your energy through the chakras of your eyes, yes! yes! that!”

 

Whatever in the hell the director’s asking for, Akira delivers effortlessly. Ryuji can’t take his eyes off Akira. The way he tilts his head, the way he smirks, the way the bright-blue contacts they have him in give him an otherworldly aura.

 

And it’s all _his_. Ryuji could march right over there and kiss Akira senseless if he wanted to (he wants to), and Akira would accept that, would implore him to even. It’s been a whole week since they’ve gotten together. Seven continuous days. Still, Ryuji can’t quite stop himself from filling with pride when he seriously thinks about Akira being his boyfriend. He doubts he ever will.

 

Unfortunately, Ryuji isn’t here solely to ogle his incredibly hot boyfriend. He’s actually been summoned to have his music video and stage outfits styled and fitted. With interest, Ryuji eyes Akira’s lavish, all-black outfit of a sparkling black mesh shirt-- _bodysuit_ \--tucked into a pair of slim fit leather pants. He prays the styling team doesn’t go that overboard on _him_.

 

He doesn’t have a chance to ask, however. The moment he makes it to where Ann and her team of eagle eyed stylists, there are clothes shoved into his hands and he’s being directed into a changing room.

 

Ryuji’s still fiddling with the weird three-tiered belt meant to keep the velvet suit jacket (with no shirt underneath) closed so that there is only a tasteful amount of his chest showing.

 

“You look hot,” Akira says matter of factly before Ryuji can ask how he looks. Why Akira is even here with them in the first place becomes clear when he attacks Ryuji with a kiss. Which Ryuji eagerly returns until it dawns on him that they are _indeed_ in a room full of the styling staff and other dancers there for fittings.

 

Pulling back only a bit thanks to the tight grip Akira’s got in the lapels of his velvet suit jacket, Ryuji raises an eyebrow, “What happened to the whole ‘we have to be inconspicuous’ part of the relationship?”

 

Just the other day Akira had gone to see the CEO herself and inform her of their fledgling relationship. Idols aren’t banned from dating--at least not the ones under Kirijo Entertainment--but it’s the general rule of thumb to at least let management know so that they could make accommodations when needed.  

 

Apparently she had stressed to keep things as private as possible: for everyone’s sake.

 

Yet here Akira is, happily shoving his hands in the opening of Ryuji’s jacket to fondle his chest in a room full of people. “Oh, please. Everyone here’s practically like family! Plus they signed a nondisclosure agreement.”  He has a point, and Akira smiles devilishly once he realizes that he’s won.

 

“Besides, it’s not like this is surprising behavior,” one of the stylists says, scribbling down tailoring notes.

 

“Yeah!” someone else chimes in. “The two of you have been the second worst kept secret at Kirijo Ent for months!”

 

Despite knowing full well that he will regret asking, Ryuji turns to Akira curiously. The contacts combined with the intensely winged eyeliner and red eyeshadow, makes it a bit hard (pun intended) to look him in the eye but Ryuji manages. “What’s the first worst kept secret?”

 

“Oh, just that the CEO is gay as all hell. Eventually all these other rich business owners will get the hint and start sending their daughters over to propose potential mergers.”

 

The room erupts into rowdy laughter, and once the chaos dies down everyone returns to what they were doing.

 

“Why are you here anyways?” Ryuji wonders. “Shouldn’t you be gettin’ your picture taken?”

 

“I’m here to approve of the wardrobe of the rest of my team like a good artist,” but Akira’s grin as he skims his hands along Ryuji’s side is nowhere as innocent as he intends it to be. “Besides we’re done shooting the _Lust_ side. We’re on to _Love_ , and set up and makeup is gonna take a while. I’ll be here all day I bet.”

 

“Shame. I have the rest of the day off, unlike you.” It might not be fair, but Ryuji enjoys rubbing in all of the free time he has in comparison to Akira on occasions.

 

Instead of getting all pouty and offended as he usually does, Akira leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “Oh, if you’re free does this mean we can have evening dance practice tonight?”

 

Ryuji makes a confused noise. “I thought we were done with choreo?” Hence, all of them moving forward to do the finishing touching on all of the costumes and set designs so music video shooting can begin. Was something--oh. _Oh._ The electric look Akira’s fixing him with finally sinks in.

 

The idol grins once they’re both on the same page, “Consider this more refinement.”

 

“Refinement. Sure.”

  


~~~~~~~

  
  


Ryuji feels a little bit bad when the woman at the front desk remarks on his and Akira’s work ethic and praising their dedication to be booking the dance studio so late at night.

 

As far as Ryuji knows, Akira doesn’t give a fuck. There’s not a drop of guilt in him as he drags Ryuji all the way to studio and then pushing him down onto the couch so that he can straddle him.

 

Akira stares down at him for a moment, pupils dilated (and thankfully back to their natural dark coloring) just like the first time they practiced in this very room. The only difference is, there’s no need to tip toe around what they both so obviously wanted. And still want.

 

There’s no slow build up in their kisses; everything starts out bruising and eager, and in no time Ryuji can’t remember what he was feeling guilty about in the first place.

 

It soon becomes clear with Akira’s end goal is when he begins to roll his hips down, gently at first so that the friction is barely there. Ryuji groans, dissatisfied, sliding his hands from Akira’s thighs up to his waist. He means to hold Akira still--this isn’t really the best place to get a hard on--but somewhere along the way the signal gets twisted in his brain, and he ends up pulling his boyfriend more firmly down onto him, encouraging him to move more.

 

Which is probably what Akira intended to happen from the beginning. A conjecture proven to be true when he pulls back, hair a mess and breathing hard, but grinning from ear to ear at Ryuji’s obvious frustration.

 

“Tease,” Ryuji grouses, even as he presses reverent kisses along the length of Akira’s neck, nipping at the places that make him shiver.

 

“It’s not like you don’t like it,” Akira accuses with a firm roll of his hips. Pleasure jolts through the blonde and he can’t help but to cant his hips up. It must feel good for Akira as well, because he arches his back, body moving in a way Ryuji’s only ever seen when he danced.

 

The idol tucks himself into the crook of Ryuji’s neck, pressing their chests together so that he can reach in between them and fondle Ryuji through his basketball shorts. “But we don’t have to leave it at teasing, you know...”

 

Is he serious? Dumb question. It only takes a single glance to confirm that Akira _is_ serious. If the sizzling heat in his eyes isn’t proof enough then the hard line of his cock in his jeans definitely is.

 

“Here?” Ryuji asks, voice rough. “We’re missing a few essentials... Doin’ it with spit is for horny seventeen year olds.” He would know.

 

That’s when Akira shifts a bit to shove his hand between the couch cushions. After a moment or two of fishing around in there he pulls out a travel sized bottle of lube and a line of condoms. “I’ve been hoping you’d fuck me in here for weeks. Stashed these just in case.”

 

Ryuji’s hit with a wave of desire so sudden and intense he worries he might faint. They’re really about to fuck in the practice room, door unlocked and all.

 

When he makes the suggestion to actually lock the door, Akira just wiggles in his lap. “Hurry up,” he groans, pulling off his shirt.

 

And really? Who is Ryuji to stall any longer? So he attacks Akira’s (ridiculously expensive and ridiculously tight) jeans with vigor. If anything they turn into a tangle of limbs, what with the way Akira refuses to sit still, more focused on riding Ryuji’s clothed erection the best he can while also trying to yank off Ryuji’s hoodie.

 

Ultimately Ryuji resorts to a bit of manhandling: forcibly lifting Akira up by the hips to begin to peel his jeans off. At one point he even has to gather both of his boyfriend’s hands so that he can fucking focus on the task at hand.

 

The slightly rougher treatment is greatly appreciated it seems. Akira moans, squirming and hips jumping.

 

_Very_ interesting. Ryuji will make sure to remember this.

 

After a lot more effort, they get Akira down to nothing but his dark colored briefs. They’re tight and would leave absolutely nothing to the imagination even if Akira wasn’t hard already, head of his cock peaking out of the waistband.

 

Ryuji’s never been a patient person, but after peeling off Akira’s precum soaked briefs, he has to take a moment to just _look_. Fully clothed, Akira’s almost unbearably sexy. But now, bare and straddling Ryuji’s thighs, nipples hard in the chill of the room, and willing and waiting for Ryuji? That’s a level of sexy he can barely comprehend.

 

It doesn’t take long before Akira tires of being looked at and not touched. Impatiently he presses the tiny bottle of lube into Ryuji’s hands, eyes blazing.

 

“Impatient much?” Ryuji jokes, but he dutifully begins to slick up a finger. He nudges at Akira’s hip in an attempt to get him to lie down along the couch, but the idol refuses to go. All he does his change the angle of his body so that Ryuji has an easier time of fingering him as they are.

 

By now Ryuji knows to just go along with it. “Bossy,” he grumbles.

 

“Shut up and--oh!” Akira breaks off into a breathy little moan as Ryuji gently slides two slicked up fingers inside. Both as a precaution and to tease, he gently presses both fingers in to the first knuckle.

 

One of Akira’s hands fly up to yank at the hair on the nape of Ryuji’s hair in an effort to ground himself. Slowly but surely Ryuji begins to thrust his fingers, marveling at how hot and tight Akira is inside and experimenting with all the different sounds he makes.

 

Scissoring his fingers makes Akira keen, thrusting them as deep as he can makes him cry out loudly, and crooking his fingers to massage lightly at his prostate makes Akira’s mouth open in a silent moan, thighs slipping further apart.

 

Ryuji’s only complaint at the moment is that he can’t see Akira stretched out around his fingers. But if he puts a little distance between their bodies he can watch Akira’s cock twitch and drool precum all over them. He slides in a third finger, smiling smugly when Akira gives a full body shudder.

 

Glancing up at his boyfriend’s face, Ryuji intends to make a cocky comment only to stop in his tracks when he realizes that Akira’s not looking down in embarrassed pleasure but is instead watching himself in the mirror behind them.

 

“Don’t tell me....” Ryuji says, fingers pausing in their movements. “Don’t tell me you get off watching yourself get fucked in the mirror.”

 

Akira doesn’t actually answer in words. He doesn’t have to: the bright red blush spreading down his neck and chest speaks for itself. For a long moment Ryuji can do nothing but gape up at his boyfriend.

 

And here he thought he couldn’t be turned on more than he already was.

 

“Want me to fuck you in front of the mirror then? Get you on your hands and knees so you can watch yourself make a mess all over the floor?”

 

“ _Yes._ Please, please, please,” Akira whines breathlessly. Needing no other encouragement, Ryuji retrieves his fingers before lifting Akira up and laying him down on his back in clear view of the mirror next to them.

 

It’s easier to take in the view this way. Reverently, Ryuji trails his hands along the length of his boyfriend’s body, taking extra care to tease at his sensitive nipples. “Gonna watch me finger you, baby?”

 

The pet name is a spur of the moment thing, but Akira _loves_ it, moaning even louder and hitching his thighs up to pull Ryuji closer to him. Ryuji traces his re-slicked up fingers around the rim of Akira’s entrance just to tease.

 

Akira wriggles about, trying to buck his hips and fuck himself on Ryuji’s fingers. As fun as it is to deny Akira, actually fucking him would be even better so Ryuji gives in, thrusting all three fingers back in again. The noise Akira makes is eighty degrees past pornographic.

 

With their current angle, it’s not difficult at all to finger fuck Akira hard and deep. The latter turns his head so that he can watch them both through the mirror. By now Akira’s all sloppy with lube and there’s precum smeared all over his stomach.

 

“Ryujiii,” Akira whines, thighs twitching as Ryuji’s fingers hit all of his most sensitive spots. “C’moon, fuck me already!”

 

“I am fucking you,” Ryuji punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust against the other’s prostate. The ensuing moan of pleasure is borderline a scream.

 

Akira wraps his thighs even tighter around Ryuji’s hips. “Want your dick,” he grumbles. His eyes are two dark pinpricks of light, half hidden under sweat soaked bangs. And there’s no amount of self-control in the world that would have Ryuji denying such a request.

 

So he flips Akira over so that he’s on his hands and knees and his cock hanging heavy between his legs. He can tell Akira’s struggling to resist the urge to take himself in hand and jerk off, which only spurs Ryuji on to quickly roll on the condom and slick himself up so that they can get on with it.

 

At the first press of Ryuji’s cock along his rim, Akira falls down to his elbows and arches his back. “No more teasing, right?”

 

“Hmm. I dunno. Teasing you is kinda fun,” Ryuji admits. He holds Akira still by the hip, pushing his hips forward just a bit so that his cock only _just_ begins to press inside. “You get all cute and flustered.”

 

“Asshole,” Akira grumbles.

 

“Brat.”

 

And when Akira opens his mouth to spit out another complaint that’s when Ryuji slowly starts to slide his cock into Akira, not stopping until he bottoms out. Just like that all of Akira’s previous annoyance dissipates in an instant.

 

Ryuji watches through the mirror as the other’s mouth drops open with a strangled moan, brows furrowing and hands clawly uselessly at the floor. A heady sort of pleasure courses through Ryuji’s body, his nails digging into the soft flesh of Akira’s waist to restrain himself.

 

_God_. It feels this good and it’s only the beginning. Eventually Akira begins to rock his hips back. They lock eyes through the mirror, and the idol begs with his glazed over eyes and swollen lips for Ryuji to move.

 

That’s all the encouragement Ryuji needs to start fucking Akira in earnest. Immediately he sets up a fast rhythm, hips colliding with Akira’s ass hard enough to make his neglected cock bounce with each stroke.

 

Thanks to the thorough prep and the way Akira goes absolutely lax with pleasure, Ryuji is able to sink in deeper and deeper. It allows Ryuji to fuck him better, angling his hips in a way that has Akira’s moans skewing louder until he’s almost screaming at a pitch a few octaves higher than usual.

 

Ryuji’s biting his own lip to stave back his own noises, much more interested in the orchestra of skin meeting skin and wanton moans. He hopes for the sake of everyone in the building that this practice room is one of the newer ones that are sound proofed. If not...he’d hate to be the staff member stumbling upon them in search of the person screaming bloody murder.

 

He and Akira must be thinking the same thing because the idol reaches back to hit at Ryuji’s thighs. “T-the door,” he pants, swallowing thickly. “Lock the door.”

 

Oh _now_ he wants to lock the door.

 

“Do you really want me to pull out?” Abruptly, Ryuji stops moving his hips, pushing Akira off of his cock just a little bit. “I’m not too sure you wouldn’t like having someone else watch.”

 

It’s only baseless dirty talk, but Akira tightens around him suddenly. Huh. Something else to remember. Ryuji traces the long line of Akira’s damp back, taking in the view of his tanned skin stretched over lean muscle.

 

The touch has Akira giving up on his half-hearted desire to stop anything, instead he just pushes himself back on Ryuji’s cock. It’s cute really, how needy Akira is. He tells Akira so, raining down praise as he goes back to fucking him within an inch of his life.

 

Akira lays there and takes it, ass up and cheek pressed against the floor. He can barely keep his eyes open at this point. Which is a shame: he looks good, tongue lolling out and whole body flushing. Thank god for the mirrors.

 

A sentiment worth repeating when Ryuji catches sight of Akira’s hand moving to take hold of his own cock. Immediately Ryuji’s reaching under his boyfriend to knock away his hand to fist him on his own.

 

And if Akira was loud before, that’s nothing compared to now. Moans are tumbling from his mouth, back-to-back and totally unrestrained. He has to go as far as to gag himself with his own fingers in an attempt to keep himself quiet, muscles in his back and thighs tense as he writhes in pleasure.

 

“Cummin’?” Ryuji asks pointlessly. Akira’s hot and heavy in his hand, making a mess of precum all over his hand and dripping onto the floor.

 

Still, like a good boy Akira nods the best he can. “’m close,” he moans around his fingers. “So close. Fuck, fuck, fuck, ‘m gonna--”

 

The noise he makes when he finally lets go is something that shakes Ryuji down to his very core. That and the feeling of Akira tightening around him sporadically as he’s fucked through his orgasm has Ryuji hurtling over the edge himself.

 

Only once he’s come down from the incredible post-orgasm high does Ryuji realize he’s been holding on to Akira’s hips so tightly there are blooming red marks that perfectly match the size of his hands.

 

Those’ll be a bitch to cover up later. Not that Akira cares. The idol is completely boneless, held up only by Ryuji’s hold on his hips. And when Ryuji pulls out (ignoring the sight of Akira’s entrance all slicked up and fucked out lest they end up going for a round two, three, _and_ four here and now) Akira slumps over onto the floor.

 

It’s very clear that he has no plans on moving so Ryuji, the caring, doting boyfriend that he is, makes himself decent and then does the same for Akira.

 

“C’mon get up, let’s get you home,” Ryuji urges. After a lot of coaxing, Akira stands up and allows himself to be escorted out of the room.

 

They’re on the elevator when Akira practically falls forward to nuzzle into Ryuji’s neck, “Stay with me tonight?” he asks, voice soft. Though his tone is innocent, the look in his eyes promises something _more_.

 

But Ryuji couldn’t deny Akira if he tries.

 

“Okay.”

  


~~~~~~

  
  
  
  
  


Akira lives on the very top floor of an expensive and protected looking apartment building. For as harsh and sleek as the rest of the building appears to be, Akira’s actual living space is so homey it feels like they’ve been transported to a different place entirely.

 

There are colorful hand-knitted blankets tossed on the back of every couch and chair and other lived in touches like the tiny vegetable garden out on the balcony, and the fact that all of Akira’s guest slippers are shaped like cats.

 

Actually they’re not just shaped like cats. They’ve been customized to look exactly like _his_ cat--a short-haired black cat with bright blue eyes and a judgmental gaze. Ryuji won’t say he’s intimidated by a twelve pound ball of fur, but the look it gives him before diving into Akira’s arms is icy at best.

 

While Akira takes care of his “baby” Ryuji wanders into his boyfriend’s room, pleased to find that it’s just as homey and Akira-like as the rest of the apartment. The walls are painted a golden yellow, the color combined with the earthy tones of the carpet and the furniture creates a warm atmosphere.

 

Ryuji takes note of not one but _two_ full body mirrors and the massive walk in closet. But what calls to him most of all is the comfy looking queen-sized bed, absolutely covered in throw pillows of various sizes and colors.

 

As Akira’s boyfriend, Ryuji figures he has every right to say manners be damned and dive right in. So he does. And he doesn’t regret that decision in the slightest. Akira’s bed is one of those high-end memory foam beds Ryuji always wanted to get.

 

Thank the heavens for memory foam.

 

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Akira says, laughing as he comes into the room and catching sight of Ryuji sprawled out like a starfish in the middle of the bed.

 

“But I’m so comfy.” The pull of sleep--in his clothes and all--is way too enticing. Is this what domestic bliss is?

 

With another chuckle, Akira shuffles over to flop on top of Ryuji. “Shower first,” he pleads, wiggling. “The shower’s even big enough for two...”

 

Ryuji doesn’t even have to open his eyes to know Akira’s waggling his eyebrows in an attempt to be enticing. When that doesn’t elicit the reaction Akira had hoped, the idol slips his hands under Ryuji’s hoodie.

 

“You have work in the morning,” Ryuji deadpans, but if he rests a hand or two on Akira’s ass, that’s just for comfort.

 

“I do....” his lips vibrate pleasantly against Ryuji’s neck. “But I still want you to fuck me again.”

 

Instead of removing himself from the temptation that is Akira Kurusu altogether, Ryuji just pulls his boyfriend closer so that they can seal their lips together. Akira hums, kitten-like, into the kiss. Kisses, more like. They all mesh into each other, only pulling back for air.

 

Akira starts to tug at the waistband of Ryuji’s pants, surely inwardly rejoicing in his easy victory. That’s when a vision of Makoto reaming both of them for fooling around too much and oversleeping (which, knowing their luck is exactly what will happen) appears in Ryuji’s mind.

 

It takes about three weeks’ worth of self-control to pull away from Akira’s talented lips, but he does it. “Go shower, you horny bastard.” And in an even greater show of self-control he lifts Akira off of him. The needy, disappointed noise he makes in response makes Ryuji want to reconsider, but he can’t, in good conscience, keep his boyfriend up all night knowing he needs to be up at the ass crack of dawn.

 

Not that Akira sees it that way. He sulks his way to the en suite bathroom, turning around once or twice to give Ryuji imploring looks over his shoulder. And when his looks are steadfastly ignored, Akira settles for throwing a slipper at him.

 

What a brat.

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


Later Ryuji steps out of the shower, with water pressure of the gods, as Akira’s still doing his skincare routine, meticulously patting serums into his face.

 

“Ah! Here’s a spare toothbrush for you,” Akira says, rummaging through his medicine cabinet as Ryuji finishes dressing himself in the clothes loaned to him and coming to stand behind him at the mirror.

 

A spare toothbrush: the universal sign of going steady.

 

Trivial as it seems, Ryuji still breaks out in a wide smile as he holds the cheap, 300 yen toothbrush in his hands. “Did you keep a spare all this time hopin’ I’d come over and need it?”

 

“No,” Akira says immediately in a way that sounds more like _yes_. Ryuji doesn’t say anything else, just continues to grin like some kind of moonstruck fool.

 

It would probably be easier to see all of his teeth if he moved to stand beside Akira, but it’s nicer to stand behind him, caging him in with a hand on the top of the sink. Akira leans back against his boyfriend’s chest, humming happily.

 

Subtly, he presses his ass back on Ryuji, tilting his head up and batting his eyelashes, “You sure we don’t have time to do anything?”

 

“’M sure,” but Ryuji’s resolve wavers just a lot when Akira continues to roll his hips back, bracing himself against the sink. “What’re you so insatiable for anyways?”

 

“I just want you,” Akira states as if it should be obvious. This time when he rocks back, Ryuji returns the favor, rutting against Akira. “Want you to kiss me and touch me. Want you to _fuck_ me.”

 

_Focus_ , Ryuji tells himself. _Don’t let the dirty talk persuade you._

 

Aloud, he tries to be rational. “We just showered and you wanna go and get dirty again?” Akira just shrugs unconcerned, turning around in Ryuji’s arms. Face to face it’s even harder for Ryuji to think with his head and not his dick, which is why in no time he’s helping Akira sit on the edge of the sink and standing between his spread thighs.

 

“You’re the biggest brat on the planet,” Ryuji grumbles between kisses. He’s lost and he knows it.

 

“Correction: I’m _your_ brat.”

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


Yet again Ryuji’s forced into consciousness way too early for his liking. Akira presses a sweet apology kiss on his nose as he reaches over him to silence his ringing phone.

 

“You’re leavin’?” Ryuji asks, eyes still shut and cheek smushed against the pillow.

 

It makes Akira coo and kiss him again and again. After the fifth or sixth time Ryuji rolls over to cover himself with the comforter. He wants to go back to sleep, and that won’t be possible if he’s roused into an awake enough state to remember that Akira’s still naked from last night.

 

Naked and marked up from Ryuji’s hands and teeth. In retaliation for the bratty behavior (that Ryuji not-so-secretly loves), he had held a whining and pleading Akira down and fucked him until he was begging to cum. And Ryuji is _not_ remembering that because the moment he gets hard Akira will _know_ and will try to suck him off and then he’ll be late to the first day of the music video shoot.

 

All bad.

 

Thankfully Akira rolls out of bed to go get dressed. Ryuji doesn’t know how long he lays there suspended in the between place of awake and not. He wants stay awake long enough to tell Akira goodbye.

 

So he lays there, piecing together what he remembers of his class schedule freshman year until he feels the bed dip again.

 

Ryuji slips a hand out of the cocoon of blankets he’s made to blindly pat one of Akira’s thighs in encouragement, “Good luck at the shoot.”

 

“Ah~, I’ll need it,” Akira runs a hand through Ryuji’s hair. “Why do the solo parts have to be shot first? It’d be more fun with you and everyone else there.”

 

“Then you wouldn’t focus,” Ryuji grumbles, half-asleep already.

 

His boyfriend laughs, pulling away to Ryuji’s chagrin. “You have a good day, okay? I love you.” And with one last, indulgent ruffle of Ryuji’s hair, Akira’s off to start his day.

 

It doesn’t take long to Ryuji to succumb to sleep. It takes him much, much longer (try as he’s on the subway home, Akira’s apartment locked up behind him) to realize that Akira used the L-word.

  
  
  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  


“Oh!” Hifumi blinks at Ryuji in surprise as he enters his apartment. “Long time no see!”

 

“Indeed. The lovebird returns to his original home,” Yusuke adds, sitting across the table from her as they partake in a helping of midday tea.

 

Ryuji makes faces at them both. “Yusuke, we ate breakfast together yesterday.” For the past few weeks Ryuji has been crashing more and more at Akira’s place--out of convenience and nothing else. Now that they’re in the middle of shooting scenes including all of the dancers, it’s easier for Ryuji to spend the night at Akira’s apartment.

 

And on the days when Ryuji doesn’t have to be lugged around from this set to that set he always makes sure to grab a meal with his roommate.

 

“True, but it’s become exceedingly rare for you to come home for more than fifteen minutes. I never knew our humble apartment could be so quiet.”

 

“See if I’ll ever help you when you get locked out again,” Ryuji grumbles. But his countenance brightens considerably when he notices the array of pastries on the table. He’s ambivalent about tea on most days, but pastries....he is a big fan of those.

 

Two stuffed croissants later and Ryuji realizes that he’s being stared at. Hifumi regards him intently, smile peeping over the rim of her mug. “You look happy.”

 

That wasn’t what he expected. It’s less of a question and more of a statement, and it makes Ryuji’s cheeks warm self-consciously. He’ll be the first to admit that he’s totally head over heels for Akira (though he hasn’t said the L-word back despite his boyfriend saying it freely and confidentially the two and half months they’ve been together), but he had no idea it was that easy to see even when he’s alone.

 

“I am,” he admits. Things haven’t been _perfect_ , Akira is still overzealous, impulsive and occasionally melodramatic, and Ryuji’s still a bit too temperamental and slow to fully trust as ever. They make it work.

 

Even when things aren’t perfect they’re still better than anything Ryuji’s had before. He had to practically trap his ex to get them to do _anything_ that wasn’t sex, while Ryuji has had to dissuade Akira from booking impromptu plane tickets to Okinawa on a rare day off.

 

As unfair as it is to compare his ex to Akira...there’s clearly no contest.

 

“To think months ago you worried that we would have to get married for the tax benefits,” Yusuke reminisces, legs crossed and looking totally relaxed. Hifumi spits out her mouthful of tea with a startled laugh, but he pays her no mind.

 

Just like Ann, as the days have gone on and Ryuji and Akira’s relationship hadn’t burned to the ground, the more smug Yusuke has become with his “part” in getting them together. Or it might just be the natural side effect of finishing all twelve of his gallery pieces. Or both.

 

Hifumi’s still coughing and sputtering, trying to ask a million questions and breathe at the same time. “Yusuke....” Ryuji suddenly feels very, very tired, “Are we gonna have to go over the ‘Roommates’ Code’ again?”

 

“Oh, I was not aware that was something I wasn’t supposed to share. Would that be considered tax fraud?”

 

Ryuji is seconds away from throwing himself out of the window. Thankfully Hifumi pulls herself together long enough to change the topic. “Anyways, will you be free in time for Yusuke’s exhibit opening? Music video shooting takes all day doesn’t it?”

 

“Ugh, yeah it does.” If he thought shooting that cheap video was grueling, it’s nothing compared to shooting for such a high budget music video. All it takes is a single limb to be out of place and Akira’s asking for a reshoot. “But we’re still on schedule so I’ll be free. I wouldn’t miss the exhibit opening for world famous artist Yusuke Kitagawa for anything.”

 

“Does this mean you’ll buy me celebratory sushi?” Yusuke asks, eyes alight. “I want eel.”

 

“I swear you only think about food! Why do _I_ have to you anyways? You’re the one with the fancy check from some freakin’ art gallery!”

 

Snagging the last scone, Hifumi hops on the “Tease Ryuji Train”, “But you’re the one with a rich idol boyfriend.”

 

Yusuke gasps, delighted. “How astute! I intended to invite Akira anyways, maybe he can take us out to sushi! Ooh! Better yet we can have sushi to celebrate the finishing if the music video.”

 

That’s not too bad of an idea. Ryuji’s impressed. “For once you might’ve had a good idea, Yusuke. Now all we have to do is survive the rest of the shooting.”

 

Hifumi pats his hand, sympathetic. “Are nervous at all? You’re going to be in a music video that millions of people will see and make gifs of online.”

 

“Me? Nervous?” Ryuji waves away her concerns, “There’s nothing to be nervous about. All I have to do is dance.” It’s not like anyone will be paying him that much attention; the whole thing will be easy.

  


~~~~~~

  
  


Ryuji is nervous. Ryuji is nervous and he wants to bite his nails but he can’t. His palms are sweating. He can’t wipe them on his pants, because he’s currently in the perfectly fitted, expensive pants for the first live performance on a music show.

 

For the past two weeks he’s been the calm one in relation to Akira. You’d think he was a rookie idol the way he worried about the reaction of the public to the teaser pictures and video, then nearly hyperventilating when the music video and album dropped.

 

More than once Ryuji’s had to wrestle Akira’s phone away from him so that he could stop refreshing social media for reactions. (‘But what if I flop?’ Akira had whined as Ryuji sat on his chest, thus immobilizing him from any electronic device with access to Twitter. ‘I need to be the first person to know!’. ‘You’re gonna be fine,’ Ryuji said then kissed him as means of distraction.)

 

And Akira wasn’t _just_ fine. His first week of album sales was nearly triple of his last album, and nearly broke some kind of record at Kirijo Ent. As for the fans...let’s just say there was a lot of keysmashing and talks about ‘snatched wigs’. Whatever that meant.

 

But maybe spending two whole weeks providing physical reassurance--Ryuji’s still not confident in his verbal affirmation skills (he tries, but never feels as though it’s enough)--along the way he’s Pavlovian trained himself to be more calm when Akira’s in his line of sight and holding his hand.

 

Which is disgustingly sappy. Unable to sit still in the waiting room any longer, Ryuji gets up in search of something to preoccupy his time before he’s due for hair and makeup. Ann had reserved him as the last dancer to be styled personally. ‘I have _special_ plans for you,’ she said, holding a brow shaper in one hand like one might a knife.

 

Just as he begins to wonder where Akira is in the hustle and bustle of the staff, Ryuji’s pulled into a spare dressing room. The _click_ of the lock is deafening in the silent room. Heart beating fast, Ryuji’s prepared to fight for his life against some kind of deranged fan that’s managed to sneak their way backstage, only to realize that he’s been kinda kidnapped by Akira.

 

He doesn’t really have any objections to that. Especially since Akira’s all done up for the performance, everything but his hair oddly.

 

“What are you doing?” Ryuji asks warily, noting that Akira hasn’t put any space between them. He just continues to stand a bit too close, hands on Ryuji’s side. “Shouldn’t you be memorizing lyrics or somethin’?”

 

Akira hums lightly, leaning closer as he does. Even when the idol is bare-faced and messy-haired, Ryuji sometimes has a hard time focusing. So it’s a real uphill battle to do anything that isn’t staring at Akira’s chest through the sheer material of his shirt.

 

“Pre-performance stress relief,” he mumbles, and then drops to his knees.

 

Deft hands waste no time in unzipping Ryuji’s pants and sliding them down his legs. Ryuji makes some kind of confused noise when he’s pushed to lean back flat against the wall. “Y-you can’t be serious--”

 

“Yes I’m serious,” Akira peeks up at him through his lashes, and licking his lips. “I’ve always wanted to do this. Plus you look so good...” He trails off to kiss at Ryuji’s hip bones and trailing lower, lower.

 

It’s clear that Akira’s giving Ryuji a moment to deny him, to pull back before he really goes for it. But inevitably, Ryuji submits, going lax under his boyfriend’s touch and letting him have his way. Denying the opportunity to be in Akira’s talented mouth (in more ways than one) is sacrilege almost.

 

Pleased with Ryuji’s compliance, Akira eagerly tugs the other’s underwear down to pull Ryuji’s dick out. He’s already half hard--a side effect of dating what might be one of the sexiest people on the planet after a two year dry spell.

 

Akira laps at the head of Ryuji’s cock, tonguing the slit and in no time he’s fully hard and drooling precum in Akira’s hands. “You gotta be quiet, kay?” Akira says distractedly, sliding a hand down his own pants.

 

“I know that, but do _you_? Every time you get on your knees you moan like I’m fucking you and not just your mouth,” Ryuji narrows his eyes, fisting a hand in Akira’s dark hair. He tugs a little and on cue Akira’s moaning and rubbing his thighs together.

 

Point made, just like that.

 

Ryuji tries to remove his hand out of Akira’s hair, but his boyfriend is quick to keep his hand there. So that’s his game this time, huh? Before Ryuji can tease him for having a hair pulling kink on top of everything else, Akira tires of waiting around and takes Ryuji into his mouth.

 

He swallows as much of he can, and then some, gag reflex virtually nonexistent. Once plump lips are at the base, he swallows. And _shit_ the suction’s perfect. Akira’s eyes crinkle at the corners, amused.

 

As cute as the bratty behavior is, Ryuji doesn’t resist the urge to pull Akira off his cock with the hold he has on his hair. The idol moans, throat relaxing and allowing Ryuji to fuck his mouth in earnest.

 

From the start the blowjob is wet and messy, Akira isn’t even trying to swallow any excess saliva or precum. He lets it spill out all over his lips and chin, and Ryuji is pulled into the depravity. The blonde fucks his boyfriend’s mouth with quick, firm strokes, getting off on the blissed out look on Akira’s face as much as the irresistible warmth of his mouth.

 

Every time Ryuji slides out, Akira moans desperately. Unable to restrain himself anymore Akira starts jerking himself off faster, eyes tearing up as he creeps closer to orgasm.

 

Ryuji isn’t faring any better. He’s close; breathing heavily and tugging even harder at Akira’s hair. After one particularly hard thrust, he hits the back of Akira’s throat. The latter adjusts like a champ, swallowing around Ryuji’s cock and not even trying to breathe.

 

And it’s that sensation that has Ryuji cumming hard into Akira’s awaiting mouth. Once he’s regained control of all of his limbs, Ryuji pulls Akira off his cock, making sure to go slow so that a single pearly string of cum connects them.

 

If only Ryuji could take a picture of this moment.

 

What he _can_ do is pull Akira up to stand on wobbly feet so that he can pull him into a deep kiss and join in stroking him off. It only four, five pumps of his hand and Akira’s cumming between them, making a mess of Ryuji’s hand with this sexy, breathless noise.

 

“You got my hand all sticky,” Ryuji playfully complains as Akira pants against his neck. Better his hand than their pants.

 

Akira shifts against him, pupils still blown wide with lust and doing wonders to add to his look of seduction. “Oh, whatever shall we do?” he says with mock distress. Then with an intense gaze he takes Ryuji’s cum covered hand to lift it to the blonde’s mouth.

 

They don’t break eye contact as Akira guides him to clean up all of Akira’s cum. Once he’s done, Akira wastes no time in leaning in for one last, filthy kiss.

 

“We’re gonna be late to styling,” Ryuji points out, fixing his and Akira’s clothes as best that he can.

 

His boyfriend grins, “But it was worth it.”

  
  


~~~~~~

  


Ryuji’s eyes open at 4 in the fucking morning. Irritated at his own internal clock, he glares up at the ceiling. Not his boring, unadorned ceiling, but the ceiling in Akira’s room. He’s got a giant poster of Mariah Carey above his bed. To ‘give him inspiration to be the best man he can be everyday’.

 

Sometimes it’s a bit startling to wake up to, but Ryuji can’t complain.

 

The only thing he’s complaining about is the unfairness of his body deciding to wake him up so fucking early one of the few days where he didn’t have to. It’s Sunday, and they’ve had a busy week and a half of performing for music show pre-recordings, showcases, and _two_ music festivals.

 

And that’s just what Ryuji’s been apart of. Akira’s schedule has at least been three times more hectic. As far as Ryuji knows, the idol hasn’t slept for more than two hours at a time in weeks.

 

Akira tries his best to pretend that everything is normal and that he’s fine, but there’s only so many times that he can convince Ryuji to sleep at his own place before it becomes obvious that he hasn’t been sleeping well.

 

Yeah, crazy sleeping habits might be the norm for idols, and Ryuji knows this. That doesn’t mean it makes it any easy to watch the bags under Akira’s eyes deepen to near critical levels.

 

He’s placated, at least, with the knowledge that they can both sleep in until Yusuke’s gallery opening later on in the day.

 

Dedicated to going the fuck back to sleep, Ryuji rolls over on his side. No sooner has he gotten himself comfortable does Akira wrap his limbs around him again octopus-like. Smiling sleepily, Ryuji brushes some of Akira’s hair out of his face (a pointless gesture, his hair falls back seconds later) to stare at the planes of forehead and the softness of his cheeks.

 

Call Ryuji a romantic, but he still can’t believe that he’s allowed to be in the bed of someone whose album is trending in the top 10 of itunes. _Internationally_. The same person whose music video got 20 million views in a week is now attempting to cling to his arm so hard the circulation’s beginning to be cut off.

 

It’s almost unreal.

 

Akira shifts in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds a lot like “I’m icky.”

 

Okay. It’s a bit more real.

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


What Ryuji expects Akira to be wearing as he stumbles out of his room later that morning is his striped long-sleeved sleep shirt and matching pants (cute) or even pulling on some of Ryuji’s clothes left from previous sleep overs (also cute). What he isn’t expecting is to look up from his battle with the expensive Keurig coffee machine and finding Akira dressed in real actual clothes.

 

“Oh? We goin’ out?”

 

Surprise turns to suspicion when Akira looks...guilty? “Ah...no. I was asked if I could fill in for someone on a radio show. Makoto figured to would be a good way to promote the album.”

 

Yet again Ryuji feels like his mother, standing there stern while Akira squirms. On his one day off he wants to do _more_ work?

 

The displeased look translates easily. Akira’s quick to come over and hold Ryuji’s hand apologetically. “I know we have plans to go to Yusuke’s exhibition opening and I promise I’ll make it! I just want to help a colleague out...”

 

“I don’t care about the exhibit,” Ryuji sighs, frown mitigating some when Akira squeezes his hand as a comfort. He thinks about what he’s just said and says a silent apology to Yusuke. “No, I mean I _do_ care about the exhibit. But I care about you too. You need a break.”

 

“I can take a break when promotions end. I’m fine.” Akira’s insistence would be more convincing if Ryuji couldn’t see the tiredness in his face, BB cream and concealer only doing so much to hide it. “This is just--”

 

“Showbiz. Yeah, so you’ve said. And like _I_ said, you have to take care of yourself.

 

“I _am._ You just don’t understand what kind of pressure I’m under, okay? Things’ll go back to normal in a few more weeks.”

 

He looks up at Ryuji pleadingly. _I want to understand_ is what Ryuji wants to say, but the words get stuck in his throat. It’s times like these, where words are crucial, that he wishes he were better at expressing himself.

 

“I’ll see you later? I might be a little late.”

 

Ryuji forces himself to take a deep, mind clearing breath. Things will work themselves out. They only have to make it past promotions. Then he smiles as convincingly as he can, “I’ll try and save you some of the whore doves.”

 

Akira pauses, taken aback, before bursting into laughter. “Oh my god,” he manages. “Do you--do you mean _h'oeuvres dors_?”

 

“Whatever they’re called,” Ryuji grumbles.

 

“You’re so cute,” Akira leans up to kiss him once, “Don’t forget to take an umbrella today. I love you.”

 

The declaration, as well as the easy way Akira lets it roll off his tongue, makes Ryuji flush. As usual. Akira doesn’t wait for him to say it back, and the way he just _knows_ to give Ryuji time to find the words makes him fall in love anymore.

 

And his chest hurts, because if only he could say that himself.

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  
  


Ryuji’s so proud of Yusuke he nearly cries at his exhibit opening. His Yusuke who used to be this weird and lanky junior that ate three week old pizza once on a dare and who nearly got kicked out of his dorm after harboring an abandoned duckling in his room, has his name on a wall in a legitimate art gallery.

 

All of Tokyo can come and see the artwork of _his_ friend. Well, _their_ friend. Ann and Hifumi are there along with a few of Yusuke’s old professors that he’s kept in touch with. Still, Ryuji feels as though he’s had a special part in all of this despite never holding a paintbrush.

 

Every late night food run to get Yusuke out of the house and away from paint fumes, every midday trip to the family owned craft store where Yusuke would spend _way_ too long looking for the perfect shade of brown, and every time Ryuji was unceremoniously pulled away from his PlayStation to pose for a painting, has now paid off.

 

So maybe he is acting like a parent as he fills his camera roll full of pictures and videos, but so what? He’s so incredibly proud of his roommate.

 

Ryuji is also very impressed with the little finger sandwiches and free champagne. His only complaint (other than the gross, humid weather) is that Akira is nowhere to be found, and isn’t answering his phone either.

 

For the most part, he’s able to put it out of his mind. Yusuke understands, and after a rib that falls flat thanks to Ryuji’s utter lack of response, even Ann doesn’t mention Akira’s absence. Through Makoto he eventually learns that Akira is still alive, just backed up at a viewable radio event that started two hours late thanks to a hungover host.

 

His mood doesn’t come down until they’re leaving the gallery for some after party that Ryuji’s suddenly not feeling terribly excited for. Ann and Hifumi are chatting happily as Ryuji checks his phone for the nth time in half an hour.

 

The more time goes on without hearing from Akira the more annoyed he gets. Not _at_ him--not exactly. More so he’s annoyed at every little thing that seems to have conspired to keep them apart today.

 

On instinct Ryuji turns his head, on the lookout for their uber when he notices the very person he was thinking about running towards him.

 

He hurries to meet his boyfriend halfway, smile falling at the utterly exhausted way Akira crashes into him. “Whoa! Be careful, idiot!”

 

“I’m sorry!” Akira blurts out. He tries to bow in a show of humility, but nearly falls over again. “I tried to make it on time, but everyone was late and then--”

 

“--it’s fine.”

 

“And it took forever to even get out of there. The fans didn’t want to leave and security had to--”

 

“Akira,” Ryuji grabs his boyfriend by the cheeks, “It’s fine. I’m not mad or anythin’.”

 

The eyes Akira stares up at him with are full of guilt, and it’s like a knife twisting in Ryuji’s chest. “You’re not?”

 

“How could I? You look exhausted. Have you even eaten today? ‘S not your fault anyways, what in the hell could I get mad over?”

 

The other doesn’t say anything for a second, and Ryuji’s just about to tell everyone else to go on without him so he can take his workaholic, idiot boyfriend home that he can eat and sleep.

 

They can talk about everything else later.

 

“I’m making a mess of this, aren’t I?”

 

“What?”

 

Akira won’t look at him. He gazes down at his feet, shoulders slumped. In this moment he looks so small and so unsure. “Am I too much trouble? I mean, we barely have any time to spend together that’s not related to work. And then...and then the one day we were supposed have to ourselves I go and mess it up.”

 

“Babe,” Ryuji implores, gently. Akira looks like he’s about to cry, and that doesn’t just twist the knife, it adds about eighty more. “It’s okay. Really. Things happen.”  

 

The other takes a deep, shuddering breath before pulling away. “I think--I think I need to go home.” And with that he’s turning and taking off back towards the way he came.

 

Ryuji gapes, what the hell was _that_? He turns to Yusuke, still waiting quietly nearby, “Sorry but--”

 

“I know,” Yusuke nodes seriously. “The after party can wait. You have things to settle with the love of your life.”

 

The straightforward delivery of the statement makes Ryuji flush. “No one said anything about love,” he protests, but it sounds unconvincing even to himself.

 

Yusuke, the bastard, just smiles knowingly before shooing Ryuji along to chase after his man. With the gesture comes a flood of gratefulness. His friends might be weird and prone to too much teasing, but they really are amazing.

 

“Thanks, Yusuke. You’re still the best roommate every.”

 

“Does this mean we can get a pet snake?”

 

“No!” but Ryuji’s laughing as he says it, giving one last final wave to everyone before turning on his heel to face the direction Akira disappeared to.

  
  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  
  


Thankfully the security guard stationed at the door of Akira’s apartment building recognizes him and lets him up with nothing but a well-meaning smile. And with the hardest part of the mission out of the way, there’s nothing left to do but take the elevator up to the sixth floor.

 

The ride up seems to take forever, and Ryuji can do nothing but shift impatiently. _Finally_ the doors are sliding open, only to reveal Makoto on the other side.

 

“You,” she growls the moment recognition sets in.

 

“Me?” Ryuji tilts his head in confusion. He tries to step off the elevator, only to be pushed back on with a firm poke from Makoto.

 

She wastes no time in stepping onto the elevator herself and smashing the button to take them both to the ground floor. “What did you _do_?” she demands, whirling on Ryuji indignantly.

 

Instantly, Ryuji bristles at the accusatory tone. “What do you mean what did I do? I haven’t done anything.”

 

“Oh really? Then why did your _boyfriend_ just come home in tears?”

 

“Because he’s...” _an idiot_ , his mind supplies, but that’s unfair to Akira. He’s not a complete idiot. Just overworked and too conscientious. And now that Ryuji thinks about it, Akira did mention that this is his first real relationship post-high school so, in retrospect, the both of them really are trying to find their bearings at the same time. “He’s stressed,” Ryuji finishes lamely.

 

Makoto continues to glare. “He is. The life of a celebrity is innately hectic. Which is why Akira needs someone stable. Someone that will take things seriously.”

 

“Who said I’m not taking _our_ relationship seriously?” Ryuji snaps just as the elevator comes to a stop with a ding.

 

“Because you’re you,” Makoto says almost exasperatedly, tugging Ryuji back outside.

 

He tries to go all rigid kinda like Akira’s cat Morgana whenever Ryuji tries to pick him up, but Makoto’s unrelenting to the point where it’s be moved or cause a scene right in the middle of the lobby.

 

As a testament to his maturity, Ryuji decides to not cause a scene. (But he kinda wants to, just know that).

 

Makoto doesn’t stop pulling him until they’re outside, where it’s begun to drizzle steadily. The rain only irritates him further.

 

“I’ve known Akira since he was a trainee,” she starts, squinting up at the ugly gray coloring of the sky then returning her gaze back to Ryuji. “He left his family behind in the country to come to Tokyo, and nearly worked himself to the bone to debut. I want the best for him, and as his manager I’m obligated to get rid of anything that could harm him or his career.”

 

“Some things aren’t your decision to make,” Ryuji stands his ground. “I care about him a lot too. Jus’ because my serious doesn’t look like yours, that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”

 

Something in Makoto’s face softens for a second, but the cold facade slips right back on. “Ryuji...just go home and let us handle him, please? We know how to deal with Akira.”

 

Her tone leaves no room for further arguments, and Ryuji resigns himself to going home and hoping for Akira to call or text him. And if all else fails, sneak back first thing in the morning.

 

He’s only just rounded the apartment building when a familiar (and frightening) voice asks him: “You just gonna leave it at that?”

 

Ryuji, so caught up in his internal grumbling and scheming, he failed to notice Iwai leaning against the wall near a side entrance of the building. It takes a moment too long, but the words finally process.

 

“Leave what like what?”

 

It’s impossible to tell if Iwai’s annoyed at Ryuji’s confusion, considering that the bodyguard always looks seconds away from being pissed off. (Maybe that’s a requirement of being a good body guard?)

 

Iwai jerks his chin in the general direction of the apartments above them. “Kid, hadn’t anyone ever taught you to not let someone else boss you around? If you really care for someone, no one else should be able to get in your way.”

 

“That’s easy to say when the ‘someone’ isn’t Makoto Nijima.”

 

Today Ryuji must’ve woken up in an alternate universe because Iwai smiles, just a barely there quirk of his lips. “You have a point, but there are always loopholes.” His gaze goes not-so-subtly to the side entrance near them.

 

“It’s locked,” Ryuji points out. Akira had talked about giving him the keycard needed to swipe in through the back entrance so that he could come and go undeterred and undetected, but of course Akira had lost it maybe days after moving in.

 

Without saying a word, the bodyguard peels himself off the wall to make his way to the door. He pulls out a card from one of his many pockets, and swipes it through the electronic panel. With a loud beep the door pops open, and Iwai holds it open, looking at Ryuji pointedly.

 

A clearer invitation couldn’t be given. Ryuji hurries inside, turning back to ask one burning question, “Why are you doin’ this for me? Coulda sworn you hated me or somethin’.”

 

For the second time in under three minutes, Iwai smiles. “I never hated you. I just didn’t trust you.” Fair enough. He regards Ryuji seriously, “But it’s clear that over these past few months Akira’s been a lot happier. Nijima-san knows what she’s doing, but she can’t baby him forever. He could do a lot worse than a punk like you.”

 

“Thank you?” Ryuji is sure there was a fraction of a compliment in there somewhere. Maybe.

 

Iwai nods. “But if you hurt him in any way I’ll kill you, got it?”

 

“G-got it.”

  
  


~~~~~~

  
  
  


Six flights of stairs, a covert stealth mission across the sixth floor to Akira’s apartment (not really), and hacking into the keypad at the door (he knows the passcode), Ryuji stands in front of the door to Akira’s room.

 

All of a sudden, he wishes he had taken some time to think about what he should say or do. Akira wouldn’t turn him away would he?

 

Ryuji settles for knocking on the door, as underwhelming as that is.

 

“Go away, Mako-chan. I don’t feel like talking.”

 

“It’s not Makoto. It’s uh, it’s me.”

 

There’s a beat of silence, then the sound of hurried shuffling coming closer to the door. It swings open so fast it’s a surprise it doesn’t fly off its hinges.

 

“What are you doing here?” Akira asks, oversized sleep shirt slipping off his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you still be with Yusuke?”

 

Not expecting the question, Ryuji can only blurt out, “The hell?”

 

Akira stares at him like his boyfriend has grown a fifth nipple. “I mean, today was his exhibit and--”

 

“Why.....why in the hell would I _not_ come for you? You ran away crying! I wanted to make sure you were okay...and make sure _we’re_ okay...”

 

Sheepishly, Akira reaches out to take Ryuji’s hand. The physical contact has the majority of the nervous, unsure tension bleeding away just like that. “I’m sorry,” Akira laughs when he receives a glare for his apology. “I’ve just been...tired. It’s been hard lately keeping up with work and us. Not that it’s a burden,” he adds on before Ryuji can take it the wrong way.

 

The blonde nods, understanding. Feeling a long discussion coming up, Ryuji sits down in the floor, quickly pulling Akira down with him. He’s infinitely pleased when Akira wastes no time in crawling into his lap.

 

“It’s just...a lot. Being an idol means so much to me, but so do you. And I don’t want to let anyone down, especially since you go through so much putting up with me,” Akira continues, playing with the buttons on Ryuji’s coat.

 

Ryuji scoffs, holding his boyfriend even tighter. “For one, you aren’t puttin’ me through anything. So what if you’re busy? You always make time for me when you can and that’s what’s important. Bein’ an idol is your calling; I’d never want you to feel bad about stuff you can’t even control.”

 

“So we’re good?” Akira asks, peeping up at him with wide eyes.

 

“We weren’t ever _not_ good, you idiot!” Ryuji jostles him. “We can make this work. I’ll be happy to just see you for an hour everyday.”

 

Akira’s smile is so bright and so genuine, it could be considered a new world wonder. “Okay,” he says, voice soft. “We’ll make this work.”

 

“Good. Now so to sleep before you get wrinkles and have to spend our fortune on anti-aging cream.”

 

Instead of pinching him on the arm like Ryuji expects, Akira shifts in his arms so that he can wrap his arms around the other’s neck. “I can’t sleep,” the idol says after leaning in for a long overdue kiss. “I think I hit the point in sleep deprivation where I’m not even sleepy anymore.”

 

(As someone who saved every college research paper he was ever assigned to the last minute, Ryuji understands that feeling).

 

His eyes are drawn to the way Akira’s shirt has ridden up a bit to reveal the soft skin of his hips. “You know...” Ryuji murmurs, a tad too casually, “Orgasms are good for helpin’ people sleep.”

 

“Take me to bed,” Akira orders, and Ryuji hastens to obey, pulling him to his feet and kissing him all the way.

 

Akira moans into the searing kisses, maneuvering them so that when they fall onto the bed, the idol’s on top and straddling Ryuji’s hips. He doesn’t bother to acknowledge Ryuji’s shirt, just sets in on getting him naked from the waist down.

 

The view of Akira seated above him, nipples visibly hard even through his shirt, and thick thighs bare, is more than enough to get Ryuji hard. And then _all_ of the blood of his body rushes right to his dick when Akira licks his hand with an open sort of depravity before shuffling forward so that they’re hip to hip and Akira can wrap a hand around them both.

 

With every sinful roll of his hips, their cocks glide against each other, hot skin on skin. Ryuji can’t help but to rut upwards, fucking into the tight ring of Akira’s fist. Before long Akira’s leaking like a faucet, copious amounts of precum making their strokes messy and slick.

 

“You know,” Akira pants, squirming hard “It’s nice bein’ able to look down on you like this.” His devilish grin comes with a particularly firm squeeze of their cocks. Ryuji groans, toes curling with pleasure.

 

Okay, two can play this game.

 

Ryuji pushes the other off of him so that he slides back flat onto the bed. Grinning mischievously, he yanks off Akira’s briefs so that he can push him fully into the bedding.

 

Toned thighs are pushed open and up, Ryuji settling in between them. “I’m gonna eat you out now,” he states matter-of-factly, taking joy in the way Akira’s breath hitches. “That good with you?”

 

An eager nod is what he gets in response so he sets to work. First, kisses Akira on the lips, before trailing down to nip at his jaw, his collarbones, his neck.

 

“No...no visible marks,” Akira groans, sounding unhappy about it. Ryuji hums his acknowledgment. There’s nothing he would love more than to cover Akira with hickeys of the deepest red, from the column of his neck down to the sensitive skin of his thighs. Unfortunately that will have to wait for another time.

 

Still Ryuji can’t resist the temptation of biting down on one of Akira’s nipples, tugging lightly. Akira throws his head back with a high-pitched moan, arching his back and pressing even tighter against Ryuji as if he wants to meld them together.

 

Pleased with the reaction (though not fully satisfied), Ryuji continues downward, trailing kisses and the lightest of bites. Finally he’s face to face with Akira’s cock, hard, curving towards his belly and his entrance already twitching in anticipation.

 

“Cute,” Ryuji mumbles to himself.

 

“Don’t say that,” Akira complains, words warping into a breathy moan when Ryuji sets to it and teasingly traces his tongue around the rim. He keeps on teasing, licking wet stripes his entrance until the other’s thighs are twitching in badly concealed frustration.

 

Then he plunges his tongue in to tongue fuck Akira in earnest. The latter nearly _screams_ one hand reaching down to fist in Ryuji’s hair while the other tangles in his sheets. Ryuji doesn’t relent. He presses his tongue in as deep as he can, pulling away on occasions to suck at the rim or trail his tongue up the length of Akira’s cock.

 

Just when Akira thinks he can’t take anymore, there’s a spit-slick finger gently sliding into him, the sudden intrusion driving him mad. Ryuji pumps his fingers in tandem with his tongue, gradually speeding up until Akira’s begging for release.

 

“Oh, holy _fuck_ ! ’m gonna cum,” he hiccups, grinding his hips down onto Ryuji’s tongue in a frantic attempt to expedite his pleasure. “Ryuji, _please_ just--”

 

And after a final, deep push of his fingers, purposefully hitting that bundle of nerves, Akira cums halfway up his chest.

 

Ryuji watches in rapt fascination, stroking Akira’s cock to milk his orgasm. “Good?” he asks with a cocky grin.

 

Chest heaving, Akira shakes his head no.

 

“No?”

 

This time he nods. “I want...” Akira’s glazed over eyes focus for a moment. He stares at Ryuji’s hard-on before trailing up to his face still messy with saliva and precum. The sight must embarrass him because he’s covering his face with an arm, “I want you to fuck me.”

 

“We can do that. Lube? Condoms?” Without uncovering his face, Akira points Ryuji in the right direction, who goes scrambling to retrieve them.  

 

The bed dips a bit as Ryuji returns and Akira licks his lips, nervous. “Ah...no condom this time, please?”

 

“You sure?” Ryuji asks, already thinking about his cum leaking out of Akira once they’re done. But he has to be sure. No getting ahead of things.

 

Akira uncovers his face long enough to take one of Ryuji’s hands in his, “Yeah I want you to cum in me. Now hurry up!”

 

And then, Ryuji’s hurrying to do as he’s ordered. He tosses the condom to the side, uncaring where it lands before sitting up on his knees and pulling Akira closer. Inch by inch Ryuji slides into him, the feeling of Akira all hot and tight around him three times as more intense now that there’s no thin layer of polyurethane separating them.

 

He rains kisses onto Akira’s face as he waits for him to adjust, shaking with the strain of holding himself back from fucking his boyfriend into the mattress. Eventually Akira begins to move as best as he can practically bent in half as he is.

 

Taking that as his cue, Ryuji pulls back until only the tip of his cock remains inside. With a sharp snap of his hips, he’s thrusting back in, hips colliding with the fleshy part of Akira’s ass.

 

Over and over Ryuji repeats the action, making sure to fuck into Akira hard and deep, but aggravatingly slow. “ _Faster,_ ” Akira begs breathlessly, digging his fingernails into the muscles in Ryuji’s back. Just like a cat.

 

“I dunno,” Ryuji grins, similarly out of breath. “I like it when you get all desperate and cute.” Just to be an even bigger tease he pulls out all of the way, taking himself in hand to rub the head of his cock against Akira’s entrance. He plays with the soft skin there, smearing precum and making an even bigger mess.

 

Tears are beading in the corner of his boyfriend’s eyes, “C’mooon you asshole. Fuck me or I swear I’ll--mm!”

 

Ryuji pushes back inside, abandoning his previous slow speed for a punishing rhythm. Lewd, wet noises fill the room, as Ryuji gives up on teasing. He doesn’t know where to look, at the fucked out expression on Akira’s face, eyes fever-bright and flush trailing down his chest, or at the sexy way he’s stretched out and impaled on Ryuji’s cock.

 

Both are good, and the visual only gets better when Akira thrashes about before tensing, his eyes damn near rolling back and toes clearing as he cums for the second time that night. He’s say something--just a litany of curses and Ryuji’s name.

 

Chasing his own release, Ryuji presses Akira harder into the mattress. It doesn’t take long, not with the way Akira’s suddenly twice as tight as before. Ryuji thrusts in two, three more times and then he’s filling Akira up with his cum.

 

Slowly, he pulls out and just like he imagined some of his cum leaks out to pool on the sheets. Akira moans at the sensation, expression finally going lax with contentment. “’m sleepy now,” he slurs, making grabby hands at Ryuji until he lies down next to him. “Let’s sleep.”

 

For a moment Ryuji is seduced by the peaceful way his boyfriend is curling up next to him. But not enough to completely forget that they’re covered in cum and lube. “Hey. Don’t sleep yet. We gotta shower.”

 

“Sleepy...”

 

“No! I refuse to go to sleep covered in cum!”

  
  
  


~~~~~~

  
  


 

Ryuji’s watching Akira sleep (in a totally non creepy way) when the idol stirs finally, coming slowly to consciousness.

 

“Mornin’,” Akira greets, rubbing at his sleep swollen eyes.

 

“It’s like 8 in the evening.”

 

“Time is a social construct.” For a moment they lay there facing each other. Ryuji’s thinking about how lucky he is, and how unbelievable that this all started from a stupid red and pink hookup app.

 

And Akira...well Ryuji doesn’t think he’ll ever know exactly what his boyfriend is thinking. Not that he minds.

 

“When I was at the radio show I got a very important phone call,” Akira says, breaking the silence. “Apparently I’ll be having my first concert tour come this summer.”

 

Ryuji sits up, excited. “For fucking real? That’s amazing! What’s next? Album of the year?”

 

He gets a punch in the arm for that. “I wish. That’s an award for serious artists. I’ll get that when I’m, like, 40. _But_ you know... a concert means choreography. You know anyone that’ll be looking for a job come June?”

 

“I might...” Ryuji grins, leaning in to give his boyfriend a kiss. He gets about halfway when Akira notices something over Ryuji’s shoulder. “Oh. You finally noticed, huh?” With a barely restrained smile, Ryuji hefts the flowers he’d snuck out to buy when Akira was still asleep to press them into his boyfriend’s hands.

 

Akira looks from him to Ryuji and back again.

 

“I know you haven’t gotten your first win yet, but I have a message for you and I figured flowers would help get that across.” Ryuji takes a deep breath, reaching out to hold Akira’s free hand for strength. His stomach flips, full of butterflies. “I love you,” he says, then blushes bright red when Akira stares at him with eyes full of emotion.

 

The flowers are crushed between them as Akira lunges at him with a hug. “I love you more!”

 

“How old are you?” Ryuji scoffs. Love isn’t a competition, but still.... “But you’re wrong. I love _you_ more.”

 

They argue back and forth for five minutes, playful argument dying down in lieu of kisses.

  
  


~~~~~~~

  
  
  


Akira actually wins album of the year.

 

It’s the end of the year, by know they’ve known each other for a year and a half and have been dating for a full eight months. Ryuji’s there at the awards ceremony as Akira’s “platonic” plus one.

 

He laughs when Akira’s name is called and he freezes in surprise. It takes more than just a little coaxing to get him to go on stage and accept his award. His speech is all off the top of his head (‘It’s not like I’m gonna win anyways,’ Akira had said after the tenth time Makoto needled him to write a potential acceptance speech just in case.), full of disbelief and gratefulness.

 

Once again, Ryuji thinks he’s beautiful when he cries. Only this time, Ryuji has the privilege of being the one to hug Akira afterwards and wiping his tears away.

 

He’s also the one that bends Akira over for a good congratulatory fucking later that night. But that’s just between them.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> there are a lot of nods to random things in here but i can't remember them now that i'm done. i will say i got really inspired by taemin from shinee's recent comeback for akira's album. nd minato nd souji are kinda like this world's tvxq lmao. i had a lot of fun with this! i've always wanted to do a big bang fic nd it really was worth it. i have no idea how i got 55k from a one line idea but i did ;p. i just really love this au and idk if i'll write something else for it other than maybe some exhibitionism smut. but i do have plans on drawing a few more things bc i need.......tiddy out ryuji. also i loved writing yusuke as the all-knowing weirdo art friend lmao. i feel bad for not finding a way to include futaba but just know i love ha! oh yeah u can find me on [tumblr!](http://stellarsketches.tumblr.com) nd now [twitter](https://twitter.com/stellarsketches)


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